
Glass. 
Book. 










note tr/ieno. 






THE 



RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



BY THE 



REV. ROBERT WILSON EVANS, M.A. 



There sits a look of inward peace upon thee, 
There floats a glow of innocence around thee ; 
Thou bringest airs of fragrant gladness with thee, 
Like glorified saint, or angel dropt from bliss — 
Can earth have homes so unearthly ? 



FOURTH EDITION. 



LONDON : 
SMITH, ELDETt, AND CO., CORNHILL. 

1831. 






LONDON : 

Printed by Maurice and Co., Fenchurch Street. 



PREFACE. 



The plan of the little work here presented 
o the reader, may seem to require some pre- 
itory statement. Its subject might have 
een treated in abstract in a regularly ar- 
mged dissertation ; but little reflection, how- 
• *er, is necessary, in order to perceive that 
formal treatise were but ill suited to its 
.ture. The best part of the history of 
me, is made up of a multitude of minute 
d irregular incidents, which make their 
impression rather by their accumulation and 
unceasing action, than by their importance. 
Of these such a plan could not lay hold, 
much less turn them to their proper account ; 
besides, a very large portion of the persons 
intended to be addressed, require their atten- 
tion to be engaged by a much more popular 
mode of appeal. Upon these grounds, a 



IV PREFACE. 

miscellaneous detail of circumstances appear- 
ed preferable. This affords a comprehensive 
and practical vehicle of instruction, and sup- 
plies, at the same time, to the subject all the 
popularity of which its dignity is capable. 
On the same grounds, likewise, the inter- 
mixture of prose and verse recommended 
itself to the author, and has been employed 
according as either dress seemed most adapted 
to the case in hand, the former best render- 
ing the expression of the more common and 
regular routine of circumstances, the latter 
being more suitable to the pointing of those 
minute and uncontemplated incidents which 
are continually starting up and rousing our 
reflection. Miscellaneous as the appearance 
of his volume may thus be, the author trusts 
that he has obtained variety, and not violated 
unity of design ; that all is uniformly di- 
rected to one object, and, through that, to 
the one great end, without which no deed is 
good, no thought is worthy, no affection is 
pure. 

The subject has long appeared to the 
author to be too slightly dwelt upon by 



PREFACE. V 

writers. Amid the crowd of books which 
are daily issuing forth, directed to individual 
conduct, how few are they which notice the 
peculiarity of the Christian Home, essential 
element though it be of the great body of 
Christ, and cradle of the Christian's social 
graces. We, indeed, need to be reminded 
again and again, that it is a permanent con- 
gregation, assembled before God for mutual 
edification and for his glory, — that nature 
has done no more than the menial office of 
throwing its members down as stones in one 
heap upon earth. The hand of the builder 
is required to accomplish its high destiny, 
and put them together for everlasting in the 
wall of his Zion. 

The high cultivation of mind in these 
days so widely prevalent, has created a very 
general interest in the beauties of natural 
scenery. This feeling being one of those 
which is increased by participation, and in 
itself of the most soothing and amiable kind, 
will be most intensely enjoyed in the society 
of home. It must be observed, however, 
that while, of all dispositions of mind, it 



VI PREFACE. 

affords the most pleasing and most frequent 
channel to the entertainment of spiritual 
thoughts, yet, if undirected onwards to them, 
it will but foster a tendency towards natural 
religion. " The letter killeth, but the spirit 
giveth life/' The author, therefore, has 
been led, no less by duty than inclination, 
to bring it frequently forward, and turn it to 
its proper account. 

What remains to be stated may now be 
left to the speaker of the following pages, 
who, in the Introduction and Conclusion, will 
give further information on the design of the 
work. It will here suffice to observe that the 
volume has been the result of short intervals 
of summer leisure, when the author found it 
absolutely necessary to throw aside all books, 
but could not remain quite unoccupied. Thus 
it is, as it were, a bundle of wild plants, 
which have sprung up in his fallow. May 
they have sufficient brightness of hue, and 
adequate sweetness of fragance, to invite 
the attention of the passenger ! 



PREFACE 

TO THE THIRD EDITION. 



On being called upon for a third edition of 
this work, the author has been anxious to 
make such improvements as the time and his 
leisure would allow. In some places, there- 
fore, he has made corrections, in others, ex- 
panded the sense of a passage by additions, 
and has inserted two new Chapters, which 
have appeared to him requisite to complete 
the plan. 

With regard to the model of a Christian 
Home presented in the following pages, he 
wishes to state that he holds the principle, 
that a model proposed to moral or religious 
practice, while it may be approachable in va- 



Vlll PREFACE. 

rious degrees, should also be unattainable in 
the whole ; otherwise, at some point or other, 
it will cease both to stimulate and to instruct. 
He hopes that this will be borne in mind by 
any one who shall think that the picture 
here presented can scarcely be realized in the 
practice of life, at least in these most unpa- 
triarchal of days. 

Cambridge, 
4% 1831. 



CONTENTS. 



Chapter. Pa S e 

I. Introduction .. .. .. .. 1 

II. The Constitution of a Christian Family 11 

A Household Hymn . . . . . . 23 

Home 24 

III. The Family Liturgy .. .. .. 28 

A Family Hymn . • . • . . 39 

The Morning's Welcome . . . . 41 

The Evening's Farewell .. •• 42 

Hymn — the Altar . . . . • . 43 

Hymn — the Comforter . . . . 44 

IV. The External Communion of the Family 46 

Hymn — the Martyrs . . . . . . 57 

Hymn— on All Saints' Day . . . 60 

Hymn — on Good Friday .. .. .61 

A Reverie in Lent . . . . . . 62 

A Meditation — on Easter Day . . 64 
V. The First Member sent out into the 

World .. .. .. .. 66 

God's Conscript _ .. «. .. 78 

VI. The Annual Meeting of the Family . . 81 

Thy Home . . . . . . 93 



X CONTENTS. 

Chapter. 

VII. A Ramble of a Member of the Family 95 

Rambles in the Valley.— The Glen . . 105 

The Ruin 106 

Rambles up the Stream.— The Still Stream 107 

The Cataract 110 

The Source .. 113 

The Swollen Stream .. .. 115 

VIII. The First Death in the Family . . 117 

What is Affliction ? 130 

The Omen 132 

The Last Prophet 133 

" I Die Daily." 134 

IX. The Family Code 137 

The Captive let loose . . . . 147 

The Monitor 148 

X. The Mother 150 

XI. The Discipline of the Family .. 161 

The Return 167 

The Recovery . . . . . . . . 168 

The Blind Man 170 

XII. The First Marriage in the Family 171 

The Bride 179 

XIII. The Garden 182 

The Pimpernell 189 

The Preachers 190 

The Nightingale 192 

XIV. The Absentee .. .. .. .. 195 

The Visit 203 

XV. The First-Born .. .. .. 205 

XVI. A Tale of the Family .. .. 212 

Prologue to the Widow .. .. 216 

The Widow 218 





CONTENTS. 


XI 


Chapter. 




Page 


XVII. 


The Pensioners of the Family 


230 


SVIII. 


The Family Excursion 


240 




The Storm 


248 




The Ascent . . 


250 




The Hill-Top 


252 




The Review 


254 




The Brook . . . . . • 


256 




The Rainbow 


258 


XIX 


. The Servants of the Family 


260 




The Discovery 


268 




The Servant 


270 


XX. 


The Friend of the Family .. 


272 




The Only Friend 


281 


XXI. 


The Library 


284 




Meditation in a Library 


296 


XXII. 


Conclusion 


300 




Epitaph 


305 



:he 



RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



CHAPTER I. 

INTRODUCTION. 



Several years have now passed since I officiated 
as the Minister of the parish of Valehead ; the 
latter part particularly of the time which I spent 
there was, from circumstances which will pre- 
sently appear, so fraught with instructive con- 
versation, that, after having recurred to it in 
memory with increasing delight and profit, I 
am at last induced to commit to writing a re- 
gister of my impressions, and only wish that I 
could, as once Xenophon to Socrates, do proper 
justice to the wisdom of my instructor. 

The parish of Valehead is situated just where 
a wild and mountainous region meets a fertile 

B 



\l THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

champaign country, with which it imperceptibly 
blends by the gradual opening of its valleys, 
and sinking of its hills. I have said parish, for 
village there is none, the houses being situated 
in the centre of their respective farms, and thus 
very prettily scattered with their white fronts, 
and half-screening orchards, over the face of 
the country. If, however, the term village be 
insisted upon, then we must apply it to a cluster 
of some five or six houses situated near the 
church, and forming those important elements, 
the residences of the lawyer and of the doctor, 
the ale-house, the smithy, and the shop. On 
the north side of the church, and opening into 
the church-yard by an old-fashioned gateway, 
whence issues to the chancel-door a narrow 
path, traversing the green in aristocratic soli- 
tude, stands the manor-house, an ancient black 
and white building, one-half of whose windows 
are bricked up, and the other presenting a sad 
unsightly contrast with what you immediately 
perceive must have been their former state, by 
having had their fine old mullions cut away, 
and the ugliest sashes of the manufactory class 
introduced in their stead. Nevertheless, it still 
presents a noble appearance, both from the 
beauty of its general outline, and from many of 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 3 

its worst mutilations being concealed by a grove 
of venerable walnut-trees, which by some un- 
accountable good fortune escaped the proscrip- 
tion, or rather conscription, of their race during 
the late war. The church is sufficiently rude, 
pierced irregularly with windows of all styles, 
here with the narrow pointed slit, there with 
the broad mullioned square, and in its general 
outline exhibiting, in the usual style of this 
part of the country, a singular combination of 
the barn and dove-cote. It, however, often at- 
tracts the notice of the stranger as he passes 
along the great road, by being seen perched 
upon a green and sunny knoll, contrasting its 
white walls with the deep indigo of a precipitous 
mountain seen beyond. It stands in the upper 
part of a long vale, which a little farther up 
forks out into three narrow valleys, each bring- 
ing down its river. These flow in an united 
stream under the church-yard, crossed by a 
handsome bridge, and in the proper season the 
banks are dotted with anglers, who resort hither 
from considerable distances. The church-yard 
has ever been with me a favourite walk, inde- 
pendent of the train of thought which it natu- 
rally suggests ; it is warm and sunny, and pre- 
sents also a great variety of beautiful prospect. 



4 THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 

Looking thence down the vale, your eye wan- 
ders over a rich and well wooded, though some- 
what flat country, along which you trace for 
many a mile, by a succession of gleaming elbow r s 
and reaches, the course of the river, and, reach- 
ing the horizon, sees it indented by the towers 
and spires of the metropolis of our district. 
Looking upwards, your view penetrates into the 
three valleys before mentioned. One of these 
is shortly terminated, presenting a lofty water- 
fall at its upper extremity, which rushes, at one 
leap, over a bare ledge of slate-rock. The view 
up the two others is more extensive, but is gra- 
dually lost amid jutting promontories. In one, 
you can just discern the tower of its village 
church, and the knoll crowned by ancient fir- 
trees, which protect the village from its peculiar 
wind. In the other, the singular fall of the 
mountains shews at once the nature of the stream 
which waters it, the roar of whose waves I often 
delight in catching at the still of the evening. 
The whole horizon in this direction, in complete 
contrast to that in the other, is tossed like a 
stormy sea into waves of solid rock and moun- 
tain, of every variety of form and figure, some 
most singular and fantastic. On such of them 
as are near enough you may discern nicks and 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 5 

furrows, denoting an old circular encampment, 
and sometimes the predominant figure of a turfy 
sweep is interrupted by a short and momentary 
swell, the tomb of some ancient warrior. Traces, 
indeed, every where present themselves of the 
possession of the country haying been disputed 
inch by inch. The foreground is a rich combi- 
nation of wood, meadow, and water, setting off 
to great advantage, by its lively verdure, the 
dark and rugged back ground. Accustomed as 
I have been from my cradle to beautiful scenery, 
I felt truly thankful to my God for this among 
other blessings, that he had cast the lot of my 
ministry in so fair a land. 

With my parishioners, too, I had every. reason 
to be satisfied. All my intercourse with them 
harmonised with the feelings, and satisfied the 
imagination, excited by the view of their ro- 
mantic country. They were a plain, pious, 
and well-informed race 3 but this character, of 
course, I do not attribute to the nature of their 
scenery, though I am confident that this has 
more effect than moralists are generally inclined 
to allow ) nor was I long in discovering its 
principal cause. Every where I found that a 
master hand in religious reformation had been 
before me. It was the operation of my last 



O THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

predecessor but one, who had become a proverb 
in the mouths of the inhabitants, and was fami- 
liarly termed the good Rector. Though he had 
now been dead full twenty years, his works still 
remained, and his conversation had left a blessed 
fragrance behind. Among the usual effects 
produced by a pious Pastor, I found one very 
general, which I believe most difficult to esta- 
blish, a habit of family prayer, and in most 
houses I saw still in constant use a short li- 
turgy, with occasional prayers to be used under 
various circumstances, which had been com- 
posed by him. The elderly persons were proud 
to be able to mention any act of kindness which 
they had received from him, as if it had im- 
parted a sort of holiness to them; and to have 
been baptized by the good Rector, conferred a 
dignity of character similar to that which for- 
merly attended the pilgrim on his return from 
Palestine. He had, of course, the usual repu- 
tation of a great scholar, and, in this instance, 
if I may judge from the little which he has left, 
it was for once well founded. As far as I can 
make out, he appears to have formed an agree- 
able mean between the old school of divines of 
the Stuart period and the very modern. He 
seems to have had all the weight of learning 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. J 

of the former conjoined with the ministerial 
activity of the latter. And though his sermons 
have too much of the old methodical hair-split- 
ting divisions of firstly, secondly, and so on, 
they are far removed from more serious defects 
of that school 3 they are never barren essays, 
or vain speculative disquisitions, but lucid 
explanations of points of doctrine, enforced by 
most earnest exhortation. 

A school-house and other buildings are more 
obvious, though far less precious, testimonies 
of his zeal. Among these is one which is al- 
ways duly pointed out to strangers by the sex- 
ton, who is the more proud of it, because it 
shews his late beloved master, he thinks, in a 
new character, that of a poet. It is a stone 
seat near the chancel door, so situated that the 
person sitting there sees a distant waterfall just 
over the sun-dial. He used to be much de- 
lighted in contemplating this quaint coincidence 
of two most expressive emblems of our fleeting 
existence, and on the stone has carved these 
lines, which the sexton, for fear you should not 
be able to spell, always reads to you with his 
fingers in the letters, and for fear of your 
having a short memory, always repeats twice 
over. 



8 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

" Sit down awhile, this scene survey, 
'Twill help thee in my church to pray.'* 

His residence was the manor-house before 
described, which was his family property, as 
lay-Rector of the parish, the living being only 
a vicarage. 

It was on Sunday, August 14th, 1825, (I love 
to note the very day to which 1 owe so much,) 
that I was surprised at seeing a perfect stranger 
pass up the aisle, and enter, as one well accus- 
tomed to the place, the pew in the chancel ap- 
propriated to the Manor-house. He gazed for 
a few moments, with an earnest look on the 
monuments which covered the wall above, in 
every variety of style, from the kneeling ala- 
baster figures and cushions of Elizabeth and 
James, down to the plain marble tablet of 
George III. He seemed upon the verge of 
seventy, and his face possessed that peculiar 
look of mild resignation, which sorrow, turned 
to good account, ever produces. His voice too^ 
when I afterwards spoke with him, came with 
that softness, which leads one to imagine, that 
sorrow has physically no less than morally sof- 
tened the heart, and relaxed all the rigidities 
of the passages from the breast to the lips* He 
turned out to be the sole surviving child of the 



THE RECTORY OF VALEKEAD. 9 

good Rector ; and, contrary to the advice of his 
friends, who thought his feelings scarcely ade- 
quate to the trial, had returned, after fifty years, 
to spend the summer months at his native place, 
where, by removing some rubbish of the far- 
mer's, and opening some windows long blocked 
up, he had fitted up two or three rooms very 
comfortably. He told me that the greatest 
shock which he had experienced, was on that 
morning at church. On opening the pew-door 
he involuntarily started at its emptiness, and, 
in the corner, where his mother always sate, 
he found her prayer-book lying still, though 
tattered and mouldering. He spent with me 
the remainder of that day ; and I afterwards 
saw very much of him, nor did I ever leave his 
company without the consciousness of increased 
information. The fruits of my intercourse with 
him I now offer to the public 5 and regret that 
the office of registering example and advice so 
excellent, should have fallen into hands so in- 
adequate. 

Before concluding, I ought to say something 
of the poetical pieces interspersed in this vo- 
lume. Many of them are, of course, compo- 
nent parts of the family liturgy, and proceeded 
chiefly, if not altogether, from the hand of the 
Rector - 3 others from different hands of the 



10 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

family ; and, among these, some from him of 
whom I have a moment ago been speaking. 
He gave me this account of them : " Their 
composition was not altogether the whiling 
away of, an idle hour; it served me for some- 
thing of a higher nature than mere amusement, 
since the constraint of verse obliged me to turn 
the leading idea, and view it in every possible 
light, to pursue it into all its bearings. Thus 
I arrived, as from the porch to the sanctuary, 
at thoughts and objects of meditation, which 
had otherwise never presented themselves, and 
the less so in proportion to the holiness and 
loftiness of their nature ; and, besides, I found 
that I thus concentrated, and called home to 
their due service, a crowd of ideas, which had 
else floated about loose and unemployed, and 
served rather to perplex me than to inform. 
I consider, therefore, each of these little pieces 
as the clinging and twining of my mind round 
some subject, which it would fain not dismiss 
until it had attained the angel's blessing ! — May 
it have so attained ! They are now precious to 
me as the tokens and sensible relics of past 
and blessed moments 3 — may they be precious 
to you as the results of a fellow- creature's ex- 
perience." 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 11 



CHAPTER II. 

THE CONSTITUTION OF A CHRISTIAN 
FAMILY. 

I had not long enjoyed the acquaintance of my 
venerable friend, when he began to unfold the 
habits and opinions in which he had beenbrought 
up. I had been observing to him the method 
and regularity which distinguished the older 
families of the parish, attributing it, where I 
believe it was entirely due, to the exertions of 
his father. "My father," he said, " was thought 
to entertain peculiar notions on the subject by 
most of his neighbours. But my experience 
has convinced me that they were not only sound 
in doctrine, but replete with benefit in practice. 
The turf here is soft and dry, and we have a 
delicious prospect to amuse our eyes. Let us 
sit down for a short time, and I will detail to 
you some of the doctrines and traditions of our 



1^ THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

little church, for so my father delighted to term 
his domestic circle." 

He maintained that society in general, as es- 
tablished on the principles of our nature, and 
still more the church, as based upon the feelings 
superinduced by the Gospel, was like those per- 
fect bodies in unorganized nature, which, how- 
ever you divide them, and however far you carry 
your division, still present, though on a lessen- 
ing scale, parts similar to each other, and to the 
whole. Thus, as in one case, we divide king- 
dom into provinces, province into districts, dis- 
trict into families, each under their respective 
heads of king, governor, lieutenant, father, and 
each a model of the preceding -, so, too, may 
we divide the universal church into national 
churches, national church into dioceses, diocese 
into congregations, congregation into families, 
each an epitome of the preceding, and collected 
under its proper head, as under Christ, under 
chief bishop, under bishop, under minister, un- 
der father. And as the subject maintains con- 
nexion with his king through the links of society 
above mentioned, so the individual with Christ 
through the corresponding bonds of the church. 
He cannot for a moment consider himself iso- 
lated and independent of the next link above him, 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 13 

his family, nor that family deem itself uncon- 
nected with the next superior bond, the congre- 
gation. From this view of the case he shewed 
what an important element a family was in both 
societies, natural and spiritual, and if in the 
former system it was reckoned by the heathen 
a portion so significant that he assigned to it 
peculiar deities and peculiar rites, what ought 
we to think of its value in the latter } In both 
cases it is the concentrated spot of those motives, 
the place where that bias and impulse is given, 
the cradle of those affections and principles 
which, from their intensity here, proceed beyond 
the threshold, arrive in proper vigour at the 
wider circles of public life, and there, uniting 
with the corresponding energies of other fami- 
lies, bind together the mass of society, so as to 
become solid as the congealed surface which 
originates from a number of centres, shooting 
forth their raying needles, and interlacing till 
they form one uniform surface. God has him- 
self determined its importance in his church. 
For as in that he has declared his sense of its 
dignity and holiness, by appearing in it amid 
signs and wonders, with the blazing mountain, 
the host of Angels, the voice of the trumpet, 
and the sound of words, unendurable, from the 



14 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

terror which it inspired 5 so in this, in this lesser 
Zion, he has assured us of its sanctity, by ma- 
nifesting his presence in it with a softening of 
his glory in beautiful accordance with the calm- 
ness of domestic life. Who has not felt his 
bosom burn within him when he reads of his 
abode in the house of Lazarus, and finds him 
weeping with those that weep, comforting the 
afflicted, and dismissing the penitent in forgive- 
ness ? 

It is truly delightful at times to take off the 
eyes from the direct view of the painful splen- 
dour of the universal church, and to contem- 
plate it through this soft and attempering me- 
dium : the perception is then accompanied with 
those vigorous and elementary feelings of love 
and warmth of heart, which are too apt to be- 
come vague in attempting to comprehend the 
vast proportions of the other. Let us for a mo- 
ment indulge in the contemplation. 

In the venerable head of the family we ac- 
knowledge its bishop, its centre of unity, source 
of faith, object of obedience. Of him the flock 
is both naturally and spiritually born, and fed 
with the necessaries of this life,, and of the next. 
He is to them the conservator of the oracles of 
God he is the entrusted minister of Christ. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 15 

His blessing confers the good of the world 
being, and of the world to be, and his cursing 
is a condemnation both now and hereafter. He 
is ever in his diocese, every day, yea, every hour, 
visiting and inspecting his flock, encouraging 
the obedient, chastising the froward, feeding 
the hungry, healing the sick, comforting the 
mourner, instructing the ignorant, interceding 
in prayer. He has, too, his priesthood in the 
elder members of his family, who assist and 
relieve his labours by their attention to the 
younger, who surround, as faithful stewards and 
ministers^ his chair in his administration, and 
his altar in his devotions. Oh ! high indeed is 
his claim, lofty his privilege, and tremendous 
his responsibility to the church of God. 

It has likewise its appropriate liturgy, expres- 
sive of its peculiar circumstances 3 holds its ap- 
pointed days of fast and festival, commemorative 
of the various events with which God has been 
pleased to visit it- and has its canons, which, 
though not reduced to writing, are thoroughly 
understood and cheerfully obeyed. 

Nor wants this little church its catalogue 
of saints : such, perhaps, is some gentle, affec- 
tionate member, possessed of the blessed privi- 
lege of winning all hearts, whose modest talents 



16 THE RECTORY OF VALEIIEAD. 

were unweariedly exerted in healing the sores of 
domestic contention, into whose ear was poured 
the secret of the grieved and burdened heart, 
and from whose lips were expected and received 
the words of advice and of comfort, to whose 
piety they seemed to feel indebted for the bles- 
sings which visited them, in whose existence all 
appeared enwrapt as in their joy, their prop, 
and their stay, the bitter example of whose 
calmness and resignation they were doomed to 
witness through long and protracted sufferings, 
whom at last they laid in the grave, premature 
in years, but mature in godliness, whose exist- 
ence among them seems now as the visit of an 
angel whom they had been entertaining una- 
wares, whom they cannot persuade themselves 
even now to suppose that they have utterly lost, 
but conceive to hover about the once beloved 
abode, and shed a hallowing protection upon its 
inmates. 

Nor, alas ! is wanting its catalogue of martyrs, 
of those who spent with unwearied toil, and 
wrung at heart by being continually foiled by 
some whom they love most dearly, in their un- 
ceasing endeavours to keep together their little 
community, and maintain it against the inroads 
of a pitiless and profligate world, and gallantly 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 17 

bearing up to the last, bound, as it were, to the 
stake, fell at length, and sank into an untimely 
grave, rejoicing and blessing their crucified 
Master in that he had imparted to them strength 
and courage for the combat, and confident in 
hope of what to men seemed hopeless, namely, 
that he would in his own good time put the 
finishing crown to what, under his assistance, 
they had begun. 

Nor is it exempt from the failings of its great 
model, for it comprehends the bad with the 
good, the hypocrite with the faithful, and it too 
has its schismatics and heretics ; it too has those 
who despise its salutary control, spurn its pa- 
ternal restrictions, and assert their liberty by 
fomenting dissentions within, and, finally, draw- 
ing off a party in open revolt from beneath the 
fatherly roof, set up a separate and rival house- 
hold, and bring the whole family into disrepute 
before a cruel and unthinking world. 

Holding these opinions on the constitution of 
a Christian Family, the good Rector was accus- 
tomed to express himself with feelings of ex- 
ceeding awe upon his double responsibility as 
father and minister, and w T ould repeat again and 
again, as continually lying upon his mind, the 
passage of St. Paul, where he observes that the 

c 



18 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

person who is inefficient in the management of 
his own household, is also unfit for government 
in God's church. He was unceasing in urging 
upon others the sanctity of home, the sin of un- 
dervaluing that which has more than once com- 
prised the whole church of God, and such as 
undervalued he asserted to be as incapable of 
understanding the nature of that church as the 
person ignorant of syllables is of reading its re- 
cords. He would, therefore, pray and entreat 
of fathers of families to take heed to themselves 
how their behaviour affects the church of the 
Christ and God : for that they too are masons in 
that glorious fabric, and however inferior, yet of 
vital importance • and if their part of the wall 
be loose and uncemented, how dare they arraign 
a superior mason, whose functions, embracing 
this part in a still more extensive range of duty, 
have been hindered by his neglect. And he 
called upon each member of a family to reflect 
upon the exceeding guilt of family dissention ; 
for that it was not only a violation of natural 
affection, not only a breach of Christian charity, 
but also a rent in the glorious vest of the church 
of God, and that, if in a lower degree of effect 
yet not of guilt, they were schismatics. He 
told them that a family thus divided, was inca- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 19 

pable of real union with the church 3 for how 
could they be united without, who were dis- 
united within 5 how could they lay their gift 
upon the altar who were unreconciled with their 
brother 3 how could they in public prayer arrive 
at any holy conclusion, whose unholiness inter- 
rupted their domestic devotions. No ! be as- 
sured, he would say, that in this case you are 
virtually cut off from the church of God 3 you 
are stones which have rolled out of the wall of 
the spiritual Zion 3 you are branches which the 
sap from the main trunk of the vine refuses to 
visit 3 you are sheep to whom the shepherd will 
not open the door of his fold. 

Oh ! great, unspeakable, is the blessedness 
of a godly home. Here is the cradle of the 
Christian 3 hence he sallies forth for encounter 
with the world, armed at all points, disciplined 
in all the means of resistance, and full of hope 
of victory under his heavenly leader. Hither 
he ever afterwards turns a dutiful and affec- 
tionate look, regarding it as the type and pledge 
of another home 3 hither, too, when sore wounded 
in that conflict, he resorts to repair his drooping 
vigour 3 here, when abandoned by the selfish 
sons of this world, he finds, as in a sanctuary, 
the children of God ready with open arms to 



20 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

receive him 5 and here the returning prodigal, 
enfolded in the embrace of those who know not, 
dream not, of the impurities of the world with 
which he has been mixing, feels all at once his 
heart burst with shame and repentance. Mer- 
ciful God, what a city of refuge hast thou or- 
dained in the Christian home ! 

A truly Christian home can scarcely be said 
to die : it may disappear from the eyes of flesh, 
but its better parts, those which alone are truly 
valuable, belong also to our everlasting home, 
It has but to throw off the elements of flesh, 
and it becomes at once that spiritual home to 
which eternal bliss is appended. All its occu- 
pations are preparations for another life, all its 
actions converge to that point • its society is a 
lively figure of that in heaven, and its bonds of 
union, though originating in the flesh, have long 
ago been advanced and established in the spirit. 
Its inmates regard each other as companions of 
the life to come, and deride the power of any 
separation which this world can effect. They 
look with contemptuous pity upon the misera- 
ble expedient for union after death to which 
w r orldlings resort, the laying up their bones in 
a costly vault 3 thus making a mockery of home 
by a disgusting assemblage of mouldering ske- 



THE RECTORY OF YALEHEAD, 21 

letons. Being one in spirit, whether in the 
same grave, or with half the world between, 
they are still in union. 

Such was the account gives by my friend of 
his father's opinions ; and ever since arriving at 
this view of a Christian family, I have regarded 
with indescribable interest the meeting of my 
congregation on the Lord's day. I see family 
after family trooping in, each in itself a little 
church, perfect in its organization, standing in 
peculiar relation to God, and now merging, by 
the unity of one altar, one faith, into a nobler 
and larger division of Christ's body. It presents 
to me a lively image of that universal body in 
which all churches,, past, present, and to come, 
are comprehended : and of the several portions 
which compose it. Here, I have thought, as a 
family knot advanced in shewy pomp, followed 
by liveried lackeys, here is a church insolent 
with prosperity, and, like that of Alexandria, 
inviting by its overweening pride the chas- 
tising rod of its Master. Methinks I can almost 
hear the awful words pronouncing, " Repent, 
or I will come unto thee quickly." Another 
group, evidently in good circumstances, but 
clad in mourning, recalls to my mind the flou- 
rishing church of Carthage weeping over her 



22 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Cyprian. Another arrives, modest in behaviour, 
plain yet neat in dress, walking arranged in 
order before their parents 5 and I think of the 
golden days of the church of Ephesus, when the 
rod of persecution was still impending to chas- 
tise any trespass beyond the bounds of sober 
simplicity and meekness, and she had not yet 
learned the insolence of prosperity. A fourth 
arrives, and by its tattered habits, and squalid 
countenances, in which ignorance and stupidity 
are strongly pictured, presents to my imagina- 
tion the present church of Constantinople, bowed 
to the dust, no less by its own superstition than 
by the sword of the infidel. Thus I cast a rapid 
glance through the Christian church, and con- 
clude by arriving at the consummation of all 
things, at that great day, when there shall meet 
in congregation before the throne of our Lord, 
churches, and nations, and families of different 
ages, different tongues, different quarters of the 
earth, and all be gathered into one great family 3 
and father, king, and bishop shall all merge 
into one title, and be ascribed with all honour 
and glory to the universal head, Jesus Christ, 
our Redeemer. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 23 



A HOUSEHOLD HYMN. 

Blest was the pious Gittite,* blest, 

Who worthy deem'd to entertain 

Jehovah, Lord of Hosts, as guest, 

Brought Abraham's t blessing back again. 
There Heaven outpour' d 
His blissful hoard, 
And made the hymning household bright 
With radiance of eternal light. 

But doubly blest that snail restore, 
Thankful amid a thankless race., 
The blessing Mary f won before, 
Her heavenly visitor replace^ 
Beaming among 
His old and young, 
Confess'd in holy good and fair, 
Shall find his God sojourning there. 

There the tear-wasted cheek is dry 

Beneath the smile of healing Heaven ; 
There to the host's repentant cry, 

The guest responds, " Thou art forgiven.' 5 
There at his feet, 
In reverence meet, 
Prone as the suppliant household lies, 
** Thy faith hath won," the visitor cries. 



: 2 Sam. vL TO, II. t Genesis, xviii. £ John, xiL 



24 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

HOME. 

Where does the heart, long lost to ease, 

Chill'd by disgust, awake to shame, 
And like the extinguish'd taper seize 

Fresh being from it's neighbour's flame. 
And flying the polluting crowd, 
Where good is mute, and evil loud, 

Its 'wilder' d thoughts arrange ; 
And 'mid the calm, like Hermon's dews, 
Which holy breasts around diffuse, 

Confess a hallowing change. 
In home, blest home : of good and fair, 
The healthiest, brightest fount is there. 

Where, like the house long worn with pest, 

Its jealous gate again unclose 
To every fond returning guest, 

And smiles replace all former woes. 
And scar'd no more by loathsome sin, 
Angelic forms come trooping in, 

And martyr'd saints of yore 
Unfold their lengthening trains of light, 
(Far different speaks to them the sight 

Of cross* upon the door. 
In home : in her secluded cell, 
The healers of the bosom dwell. 



* At the time of the plague in London infected houses were 
marked with a eross on the door. 



THE RECTORY OF YALEHEAD. 25 

p 

There is that spot, so singly blest, 

Like that the Patriarch found of yore, 
Where Heaven's all-radiant staircase prest, 

And files of climbing angels bore. 
Thence launch'd upon the bosom's wing, 
Prayers to the gate of Heaven spring, 

And ever as they rise, 
Encounter blessings in descent, 
And Faith, and Hope, Joy, Peace, Content, 

Come gleaming from the skies. 
TsTo dreamer's bliss, O home, is thine, 
We touch the substance with the sign. 



The day with pure communion fraught, 

There brings the heart, at evening's close, 
A glorious harvest-home of thought, 

Unearthly dreams for night's repose. 
And mounting its aerial throne, 
Frames worlds, founds empires, all its own, 

And each most good, most fair, 
But purg'd from every earthly stain, 
From shame and sorrow, guilt and pain, 

Arrays concentered there : 
Joys on its inward stores to gaze, 
And revels in the boundless blaze. 



Suns without scorching rouse the lark, 
Moons without striking fill and wane, 

Seas without tempest w T aft the bark, 

Man without slaughter meets with man, 



c 26 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Youth flies, yet age is distant far ; 
Age comes, nor death is near to mar 

Uninterrupted bliss : 
The past is seen without a pang, 
No clouds upon the future hang, 

To-day is paradise. 
O blessed home ! the bliss man lost 
Still strews in wrecks thy favour'd coast. 



My soul, ascending as I think, 

Then hastes to disembodied bliss, 
And pois'd on matter's ridgy brink, 

Pores upon spirit's wide abyss, 
And tiptoe standing, vaults to free 
The last hold of mortality ; 

Thence, twinkling far behind, 
Leaves sluggish matter's last faint star, 
And stands within the golden bar 

Of everlasting mind. 
Such visions home presents to view, 
And home will give the substance too. 



Thus to that sphere my spirit's flight 
Mounts upward, where beginning, end, 

Past, present, future, all unite, 
All one harmonious vision blend. 

Man's reckless hate, God's anxious love, 

His cross below, his throne above, 
.Bins utter'd, sins forgiven ; 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. %~ 

Man's plaintive dirge, heaven's trumpet-cry, 
Our grave on earth, our home on high, 

Lost Paradise, gain'd Heaven ; 
All in one moment press'd I see, 
"My home is in eternity. 

O thou great fount of thought and light, 

To mortal mind that givest wing, 
With inextinguishable might, 

Up to thy crystal vault to spring ; 
And smilest as thou see'st it climb 
The flamiug walls of space and time, 

The baby of the skies ; 
And ever towards thy sapphire throne, 
With beauteous forms allurest on, 

Despite of falls to rise : 
Come with thy fiery pillar, come, 
guide my wandering spirit home. 



28 THE RECTOHY OF VALEHEAD. 



CHAPTER HI. 

THE FAMILY LITURGY. 

On calling one morning upon my friend at the 
Manor-house, he received me in a room which 
I had not seen before. It had all the appear- 
ance of having been a library 3 its fine bow- 
window still retained in its upper part some 
panes of stained glass, and a few ancient-look- 
ing books still lingered upon the shelves, which, 
surrounding the room, left but space enough 
over the chimney-piece for a cuckoo-clock. On 
one side of the fire stood a high-backed arm 
chair, corresponding with which, in massiveness 
and size, was a table, at which my friend was 
sitting. The whole scene, not excepting the 
inhabitant himself, carried the mind half a cen- 
tury back. He appeared deeply engaged in a 
reverie over some papers, and beside him lay 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 29 

what appeared to be a family -bible. I was on 
the point of withdrawing when I caught his eye, 
and he cried, (( Nay • come m, my friend : so 
far from interrupting my business, you promote 
it. You are one who like to hear my tales of 
old times, and this is one of my retrospective 
days. On such I always sit in this room, which 
beyond any other, is associated with the past. 
It was the cradle as it were, of my mind -, for 
it was my father's study, where he used to teach 
us, and served, moreover, as the family chapel. 
Yonder clock sounded the hour of morning and 
evening prayer 5 that arm-chair was his seat, 
or, if you will, his throne, on which he presided 
amid his little church ; and these MSS. consist- 
ing, as you perceive, partly of loose leaves, 
partly of fixed, contain our family liturgy, as 
drawn up in my father's hand. The fixed leaves 
include the more general prayers, which were 
therefore of daily use • the loose the more par- 
ticular, which therefore varied with the occa- 
sion. The preservation of these last is owing 
to a custom of my father's, who always had the 
prayer written out, and shewn among the fa- 
mily, before he offered it up • that by this means 
all hearts may be prepared to follow in unison. 
I have just arranged it as it must have stood 



30 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

forty years ago, and am now enjoying the re- 
trospect 5 and I thank my God and Saviour for 
giving me a father who so ordered our ways, 
that I can find the purest and sweetest enjoy- 
ment in what to most is a source of regret, if 
not of remorse. Every circumstance here ex- 
pressed or alluded to, has been the cause of 
some spiritual working in our family - 7 and its 
effect is now being felt in another world. It 
thus bears an importance in my eyes far beyond 
such as affect empires : and it refers me also to 
Him, with whom are resting those blessed spi- 
rits whose society I am longing to rejoin ; and 
am fluttering and beating the wires of my cage, 
as I see them around me in liberty. Well ! I 
was among the eldest of our earthly family ; 
shall I complain if I am the youngest of our 
heavenly ?" 

Then suddenly changing his tone, he conti- 
nued. I have already detailed to you my fa- 
ther's notions on the constitution of a Christian 
family. With these his views of domestic 
prayer were in strict accordance. Prayer, he 
maintained, consisting, as it does, of petitions 
upon wants felt ; thanksgiving upon blessings 
experienced 5 confession of sins committed y 
and humiliating acknowledgement upon their 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 31 

chastisement, cannot deal in generals : it must 
enter into all the particularities of the situation 
of the offerer : it must as much distinguish him 
from any other, amid the vast multitude bowed 
before the throne of God, as his features and 
person amongst the assemblages of men. Thus 
the liturgy of any particular church will express, 
and allude to circumstances by which it differs 
from every other similar component of Christ's 
body j and the prayers of a family, in like man- 
ner, fix its indentity in the class to which it be- 
longs. On this principle he strongly disap- 
proved of the use of general formularies of prayer 
for families, as confounding what ought to be 
kept essentially distinct. I should say the ex- 
clusive use, since they can supply but one out 
of the two parts of which such prayer should 
consist 5 namely, that which represents the 
family in its general relation as a portion of a 
larger body. The other, which denotes the 
family as a body in itself, assuredly not a less 
important division, they altogether omit. He 
was therefore careful to make our prayers bear 
upon the peculiar circumstances of the family, 
reflect its individual character, spiritual and tem- 
poral, for better or for worse. For example, 
had any member offended against the peace of 



32 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

the family } After his submission, which ever 
indeed quickly followed, his confession was in- 
serted by name amid the general confession, 
and his pardon humbly entreated from the Al- 
mighty Father. Was any one sick ? We spe- 
cially prayed for his restoration, and for hope 
and patience to sustain him. Was any one ab- 
sent ? He was earnestly recommended by name 
to God's holy keeping. Thus did my father, 
like a faithful steward, daily present before God, 
an account of the household entrusted to his 
care. How scrupulous and accurate was that 
account, I leave you to gather from this collec- 
tion. To a stranger, and at this distance of 
time, some of the incidents may seem trifling • 
but in cases of the heart, especially when laid 
Open before God, my father deemed nothing 
trifling. It is affected but by detail 5 and I 
have reason to know, upon the result of fact, 
that these were not trifling. I place before you 
our service of prayer as it stood forty years ago. 
Here is my name inserted among the absentees, 
(the assembled family never beheld me again 3) 
and here is a prayer for the health of a sister, 
(she has longed joined the blessed.) But here 
follows a more minute (perhaps you may call it 
trifling) mention of particulars : thanks for the 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 33 

pleasure and profit received from the visit of a 
friend of the family, a deprecation put up by a 
brother for some hasty behaviour — and were 
such prayers fruitless ? No -, that visit was 
felt in effects by our family, which are alive in 
me at this hour. We had, I might almost say, 
been entertaining an angel unawares. That 
brother, naturally of impetuous temper, grew 
into the mildest creature upon earth, and owed 
his life afterwards to a signal display of for- 
bearance. But even at the time, when such 
effects were not present to our view to give it 
importance, the mention of minute circum- 
stances was rescued from the least appearance 
of trifling, by the turn which my father always 
gave it 3 pointing out its due connexion with 
things of greater dignity, and imparting to it a 
share of their importance. Nor did he disre- 
gard the effect of forms, which none but the 
unthinking can deem trifling. As an instance, 
observe how he broke part of our liturgy into 
responses, and in these responses has laid the 
petitions for domestic union, and thus pledged 
us before God to maintain it. Nor did he think 
the physical effect of our voices being in con- 
cert on such an occasion altogether insignifi- 
cant. 



34 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Need I say how guarded must have been the 
conduct of every individual in such a family, 
how quick their self-discernment of any weak- 
ness, how immediate their mastery of any burst 
of undue passion; they lived before one another 
daily in the sight of God 5 to him and to each 
other all hearts were open 5 there was a mutual 
spiritual as well as bodily knowledge, a sym- 
pathy and bond of love established not only in 
the visible w T orld, but also in the invisible. We 
were all one ; there was no reserved and sullen 
member among us 5 none with his private care 
devouring his heart, and dismaying the rest 
with looks of unaccountable gloom — all was 
frankness and openness of heart, and God was 
among us w 7 ith all the illumination of his peace 
and gladness. 

He then put the MS. volume into my hands, 
desiring me to peruse it while he attended to a 
person who had called upon business. Never 
before was seen so affecting a history of a 
family -, a history, too, not written for the eye of 
man, but actually told out at the throne of God. 
It was a register of circumstances which were 
not of mere earthly occurrence, and so had 
passed away, but had been means also of spi- 
ritual communication with heaven, and in their 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 35 

effects immortal. It was a complete series of 
the bounty and the chastisement, of the joy and 
the sorrow, by which God had ordered their 
going. I saw the different stages of their 
journey, as this chosen family moved through 
this wilderness below to the promised land of 
rest 3 and oh, methought, that every family 
would duly take warning by that registry which 
God hath caused to be kept of the prototype of 
all families, and see its fate in that of the house 
of Israel, remembering that they see there the 
dealings of God not with a nation only, but a 
family also. In turning over the pages, I per- 
ceived that this family, like its model the 
church, had its peculiar days of commemoration 
for blessings or for chastisements. Among 
these, I found the marriage-day of the parents, 
the birth-day of each child, anniversaries of 
recovery from dangerous sickness, and also of 
the final release of some member from this 
w r orld of trouble. Thus the whole earthly his- 
tory of the family was run through in the course 
of the year, the memory of God's dealings with 
them constantly kept alive, and a grateful sense 
of past mercies was continually preparing them 
for the reception of new. 

On his return, my friend resumed. From this 



36 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

cradle we came forth into the world, strong in 
principle, inured to reliance upon God, and with 
no slight acquaintance with the human heart, 
which we had derived from our habitual un- 
reservedness, and were thus spared the disgust 
and corruption by which such experience is so 
dearly bought in the mart of the world. Life is a 
recurrence of similar occasions, varied some- 
what in aspect, and all occasions at home 
having been met with the proper feeling and 
principle, and well noted and discerned by our 
system there, left us, on their repetition on a 
larger scale in the world, but little perplexity. 
Even when absent, we enjoyed to a considerable 
degree the comfort and protection of home. Is 
it nothing to be assured that we are the object 
of continual prayer ? Is it nothing to know that 
at a certain hour we are joining our prayers 
with others, and are united at the foot of the 
throne of God } Besides, we often enjoyed its 
holy influence in a manner quite incidental and 
indirect. Well do I remember how, when once 
upon the point of yielding to a very strong 
temptation, a clock struck the very hour of 
our evening prayer. In an instant, our family 
group appeared before my eye 5 I heard my 
name put up in humble and earnest entreaty to 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 37 

the Almighty Protector, expressions of our do- 
mestic liturgy flashed upon my mind with a 
vivid light, and I repelled the assailant with 
lively indignation, and felt as if I crushed it 
with the might of a giant. 

I have since seen much of mankind, have 
been the guest of many families, and what 
I have observed in them has convinced me of 
the wisdom of the economy with which my 
father ruled his own. I have seen very many 
amiably united in the bonds of affection, but 
very few, alas, in those of religion. In almost 
all, the serious thoughts connected with another 
life seemed studiously kept down in the bottom 
of the bosom, not as a treasure of which the 
owner was jealous, but as an occupant of which 
he was ashamed 5 they seemed to be withheld 
as endangering the unity of home, not as con- 
firming it, and that suppression of opinion which 
on any worldly matter would be considered dis- 
ingenuous, was on this point industriously en- 
couraged. Perhaps a sudden blow of misfortune 
came upon them, and they turned to God, but it 
was in stupor and amazement 5 family prayer 
was established, but like the book of the law, 
found by Josiah, it was heard, after a long neg- 
lect, by untutored ears, and, unfortunately, there 



38 THE RECTOHY OF VALE HEAD. 

was always some one member of the family not 
in unison with the rest, one of whose inward 
satire all stood in awe, to whom the others were 
individually conscious of some folly or other, 
and fearful of his secret ridicule, and imputa- 
tion of hypocrisy, were either altogether de- 
terred, or spent the time of prayer in thinking 
of him, and not of God ; in fearing him, and next 
the Lord. Taken up with so faint a spirit, it 
could not last long ■ the presence of guests was 
enough to shame them out of it, and after 
several interruptions, which became stronger 
and stronger, and several revivals, which be- 
came weaker and weaker, it was finally dropped 
by a consent, which, however tacit, was appa- 
rently much more hearty than that by which it 
had been originally established. Few seem to 
be aware of the difficulty of setting on firm foot- 
ing effectual family prayer, of the time which 
must elapse before each bosom can break 
through the prison of its reserve, and stand un- 
revealed to its neighbour, before it can reach 
that state of purity and confidence which fears 
no rebuke, experiences no aversion to confess, 
disguises not its wishes, and before the brother 
and the sister, the delicacy of the one, and the 
manliness of the other, find at last that common 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 39 

language which God had given, but the world 
had destroyed, before the same thing can appear 
in the same light to different minds, and what 
was formerly an object of levity and banter, can 
become to both parties a source of seriousness 
and of anxious canvass. O, my friend, be as- 
sured upon my experience, that where religion 
is not predominant, there is no stable home, the 
joys of that house are but sources of future 
sorrow, its affections mere ropes of sand. 

Here our conversation upon this point ended ; 
before quitting him, I took copies of some of 
the poetical pieces of the family devotions, 
which I here subjoin. 



A FAMILY HYMN. 

ALL. 

Lord of that family above, 

Where thou dost rule in might alone, 
Eternal Sire ! and angels move, 

As children round thy burning* throne ; 
Look on its type which now draws nigh, 

With humble prayer and praise to plead, 
And of the peace which binds on high, 

Oh, pour some portion on its head. 



40 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 



O Thou, whose image I convey 

Amid these suppliants, Father, hear, 
Grant, as with fearful rule I sway, 

Thee of all rule, great source to fear. 
Correct this heart, this tongue chastise, 

That whatsoever word shall fall, 
May in their hearts to wisdom rise, 

And turn them to the Sire of all. 



CHILDREN. 

O Thou, before whose awful seat 

Ten thousand thousand seraphs how, 
Grant us with reverence due to meet, 

And own this type of Thee below. 
Round him in fondness as we cling, 

To thee to bow both heart and knee ; 
Through him, of life the mortal spring, 

Honour the immortal fount in thee. 



Thus humbly imitating here 

Its holy prototype above, 
Oh ! may this earthly household bear 

Some foretaste of its deathless love. 
On thee each wish in union bent, 

Bound in the bonds of spirit fast, 
Here truly may it represent, 

There join the original at last. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 41 
II. 

THE MORXIXG'S WELCOME. 

Welcome, my brother, from his hand, 
That bursts, of sleep and death, the band : 
This morn one earnest more supplies 
Of morn when we in Heaven shall rise. 

Brother ! again we meet below, 
More bliss of earth is still to flow ; 
Oh ! in its beams may we improve, 
And ripen towards the bliss above. 

Brother ! again on earth we meet, 
Our trials yet are incomplete ; 
With hope for future, thanks for past, 
May we endure and win at last. 

Upon thy calm and sunny face 
Thou bearest high communion's trace : 
As Moses from the presence-throne, 
Brought broken rays of glory down. 

How still the breast, the heart how light, 
That hath been lodg'd with him at night, 
The good Samaritan ; each wound, 
Struck by the world his hand hath bound. 

Heal'd each heart's bruise, sooth'd ever}- pain, 
On earth's wide wilderness again 
We start ; no robber's sword we fearj 
His healing hand is ever near, 



42 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Oh then, this hour's unmingled halm, 
The first-fruits of this holy calm, 
To him let us prefer, and fall 
Jointly "before the Lord of all. 



III. 
THE EVENING'S FAREWELL. 

Farewell ! into his keeping go, 
That huilds all rest*above, below; 
Tho' far asunder eye and ear, 
Lapt in his care, we still are near. 

Tho' sleep and solitude surround 
Our senses with unsocial bound, 
Our spirits, in purest dreams upflown, 
Shall meet before our Master's throne ; 

Together from that source above 
Shall drink community of love, 
Union of purpose, will, and mind, 
Each thought, each wish in him combin'd. 

And thus to troublous earth once more 
We wake with renovated power ; 
And meet again, to stem the tide 
Of world and worldlings, side by side. . 

Farewell ! secure we lay us down, 
His sheep that never lost his own, 
His charge that strews his servant's bed, 
Yet had not where to lay his head. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 43 

His name, blest giver of repose, 
Shall our last mutual accents close : 
Thankful for what the day lias given, 
We leave the night in hope to heaven ; 

And ponder, as we close our eyes, 
How in the tomb he lay to rise. 
Last upon thoughts and lips at night, 
First may he be at dawn of light. 



IV. 
HYMN :-THE ALTAR. 

An altar to the God of grace 

I'll build, to him alone ; 
And where shall be this altar's place 1 

" Lord ! where thyself hast shewn ; 
Within the temple of my heart, 
Within its inmost, holiest part. 

And sacrifice I'll bring to thee, 
The choice of earth and heaven. 

And what the sacrifice shall be 1 
Lord ! what thyself hast given. 

I'll bring thee for thine altar's food 

My Saviour's body and his blood. 

And incense I will burn, whose steam 

Shall reach thy starry chair. 
And what wilt thou as incense deem ? 

Lord ! what thou teachest, prayer : 
Sighs, tears, and groans o'er follies past, 
Faith, hope, and joy attain' d at last. 



44 THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 

And offerings I will bring, of those 

My utmost means afford. 
And what the offerings shall compose 1 

What thou hast bidden, Lord ! 
Mercy to other's frailties shewn, 
As thou hast mercy on mine own. 

Thou that with Heaven's own flame of yore 

Didst light Elijah's pyre, 
Oh ! down upon this altar pour 

Thy Spirit's quickening fire. 
Borne on its pinions to the skies, 
May victim, incense, offerings rise. 



V. 

HYMN :— THE COMFORTER. 

Where shall my restless spirit rove, 

What realms in flight discern, 
Nor meet, O mighty Lord of love, 

Thy steps at every turn 1 
In every maze of wildest thought, 

Heart's every devious wind, 
Howe'er unstudied and unsought, 

Thy glorious track I find. 

I mourn amid the tedious night, 

In dismal terrors pray ; 
And suddenly, with inward light, 

Thou turnest all to day. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 45 

Friendless I wander and alone, 

And world and fortune chide ; 
And instantly, O holy one, 

Thou standest at my side. 

I look sin's parted moments o'er, 

And weep in angry shame : 
Thou biddest me look on before, 

And shout in songs thy name. 
I look upon life's course half done, 

And mourn its narrow date : 
Thou say'st it is not yet begun, 

And ne'er shall terminate. 

I look upon the worm, and sigh, 

"My brother and my peer :" 
Thou dost to angels point, and cry, 

" Behold thy brothers here." 
I look upon the dust and say, 

" My parent, and my home :" 
Thou bidd'st me gaze on endless day, 

There dwell in worlds to come. 



46 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE EXTERNAL COMMUNION. OF THE FAMILY. 

When I left my friend, after the last conversa- 
tion, I pondered upon its subject, and in order 
to indulge my meditative humour, took a con- 
siderable round instead of reaching home by the 
direct road. My way lay through a favorite 
dingle, but so enwrapt was I in my thoughts, 
that its beautiful features never once broke the 
thread of my contemplation ; nevertheless, the 
consciousness of being there gave me animation 
and spirits, and I pursued my subject with un- 
wearied activity. The result of my opinion was, 
that the religious economy which the good 
Rector had established for his household was so 
compact and complete in itself, drew the bonds 
of home so close that it would require more 
than the ordinary means to subdue a spirit of 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 47 

religious exclusiveness, and maintain a proper 
communion with the church. As far as I had 
heard, their domestic worship began and ended 
with their own family, and they were in danger 
of considering themselves an isolated body, and 
of keeping aloof, like the family of Israel, amid 
the idolatrous heathen. As nothing could be 
more contrary to the Rector's notions on the con- 
stitution of a Christian family than such a ten- 
dency, I was curious to know by what counter- 
poise he had relieved it. 

The opportunity of satisfying my objections 
soon occurred. On the very next Sunday, after 
service, my friend accompanied me on my way 
home from church. It happened to be St. 
Peters day, and he began by complaining of 
the little interest which the congregation seemed 
to take in the observance of such days $ they 
did not seem even to understand their nature or 
their purpose : for myself, he proceeded, I still 
retain, and trust that I ever shall, the strong 
impression which my father was careful to make 
upon our minds, of the importance of these pious 
memorials. They prevent that selfishness (for 
I know not how else to term it) which makes us 
think and act on religious subjects, as if the 
church of Christ were confined to our own 



48 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

country and generation. They give., when un- 
derstood, a catholicity of feeling to the congre- 
gation, exhibiting the links by which it is 
attached to the church of all ages and places. 
On this principle, as well as upon others, such 
days were ever observed with due diligence and 
solemnity in our family. This feeling indeed it 
was my father's anxious care to cherish at home. 
He turned our attention to brethren in Christ 
beyond the threshold, to spiritual fathers beyond 
the circle of home 3 he directed a portion of our 
prayers, first to the welfare of the congregation 
to which w r e belonged, and then to the welfare 
of the church of which it was a portion, and in 
every possible way put us in mind of our form- 
ing an element in one vast body, whose condi- 
tion for better or worse was felt through every 
member. 

In addition to these means, he took care that 
we should be well acquainted with the history 
of the church. He did not think it right that 
we should for a moment imagine that nothing 
had happened in the church of God since the 
days of the Apostles, that we had received our 
faith immediately from their hands without any 
intermediate debt of gratitude and acknowledge- 
ment, that no trials had been undergone, that 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 49 

no examples to animate our zeal, none to warn 
us of our weakness, had been set forth in its 
transmission, that the word of God, after a lapse 
of 1800 years, had come into our hands some- 
how or other, but how, and by whom, it was no 
more our business to inquire, than if it had 
fallen, like the Roman sacred shield, immedi- 
ately from heaven- that we were a body in our- 
selves, indebted to no one, related to no one, 
without fathers, without brethren: such a state 
of feeling, he said, argued the most infatuated 
obstinacy of selfish ignorance, and the most 
base and unchristian -like ingratitude. If, by 
shewing marks of reverence and affection for 
the memory of mortal men, from whose care- 
ful hands we have received the gospel, any 
one should imagine that he detracts from what 
is due (and the utmost which we can pay is 
due) to its immortal Author, is he prepared to 
carry this principle into common life, and hold 
himself exempted from all debt of gratitude to 
earthly benefactors, because they are but the 
instruments of God's blessings? He will not 
assert this, and on the same ground should not 
maintain the other. Our dear father, therefore, 
while he was unwearied in directing our at- 
tention to the supreme importance of Holy 



50 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Scripture, and making us both understand and 
feel what it teaches, would often devote an 
evening to at once instructing and amusing us 
by the reading of some record of the primitive 
church, and when such was wanting, as too 
often it was,* in our own tongue, he would 
translate from the original. I feel burning 
within me at this very moment, on the bare 
recollection, the devotional courage inspired 
into my boyish heart on the recital of the 
account of the martyrdoms of Ignatius and Po- 
ly carp, and can recall the admiration and love 
which I felt towards the youth who so coura- 
geously bore the cruel test of his faith in the 
persecution of the church of Vienne. Oh ! how 
breathless would we hang upon our father's lips 
during such narratives : what zeal, firmness, 
and courage, we drank in 3 what exalted notions 
of the enduring powers of faith, and how ear- 
nestly did we long to obtain the armour of such 
faith. Our feeling was that of a young family 
of Christian heroes, full of the high spirit of our 
ancestry in the church, (for so we learned to 
reckon the martyrs,) determined never to lose 

* The Apostolic fathers were translated and published, 
with suitable notes, by Archbishop Wake. Would not our 
times encourage a reprint 1 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 51 

or impair the rich inheritance which they had 
transmitted, and never to disgrace, when the 
day of trial came, so illustrious a lineage. 

I cannot conceive, he would say, upon what 
principle, except upon an antiquated and un- 
reasonable prejudice, Christians of the present 
day so generally shut their eyes upon the glo- 
rious list of examples exhibited to us by the 
history of the church. I much fear that such 
as are not under prejudice are swayed by indo- 
lence or downright indifference. Be the reason 
what it will, on such the author of the Epistle 
to the Hebrews assuredly did not act. What a 
sublime commemoration of departed worthies 
he has made in his eleventh chapter: his words 
come pealing upon the reader like the sound of 
a trumpet, summoning to the battle with the 
world : name follows name, and action succeeds 
action, like so many stirring notes, till he con- 
cludes with a strain which makes the heart 
leap. u Who through faith subdued kingdoms, 
wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stop- 
ped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence 
of fire. They were stoned, they were sawn 
asunder, were tempted, were slain with the 
sword : they wandered about in sheepskins and 
in goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tor- 



52 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

men ted, of whom the world was not worthy $ 
they wandered in deserts, and in mountains, and 
in dens and caves of the earth, &c." Yet how 
has this list been extended since his days; how 
much more magnificent is our retrospect. So 
glorious a procession never yet passed before 
the eyes of man 5 through a long and glittering 
line of martyrs and confessors, and just men 
made perfect, we arrive at the human form of 
the Captain of our Salvation, and bless and adore 
his Divine Majesty. And must we think it a 
duty to turn aside from the view, as if we were 
witnessing a splendid pagan spectacle, and to 
stifle the rising emotion, as if afraid of having 
our feelings entrapped by the imposing appear- 
ance } Yet, strange to say, the principal ob- 
jectors to such contemplations do not object to 
the use of examples 5 they hold them up for 
imitation. But what are they I Are they men 
capable of exciting our interest, exalting our 
notions, instructing our principles, by being 
placed in situations which render immediately 
manifest the effect of each action, by being en- 
gaged in perilous times, by making most pre- 
cious and yet most cheerful sacrifices of inter- 
ests and affections, by encountering persecution, 
hunger, nakedness, and the sword? Far from it. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 53 

They are, almost without exception, common- 
place men, whose merit is the having acted as 
became them in common-place situations : they 
are men nursed up in our own easy and luxuri- 
ous times, upon which the fiery breath of perse- 
cution has never blown : men unheard of be- 
yond the narrow range in which they moved, 
who have left no impression on their age, but in 
sinking into the grave stirred a small and tran- 
sitory circle, and then the surface of society 
became as if they had never lived or died. 
Surely, to look for imitation to models of so low 
and familiar a standard, is to narrow and debase 
our estimate of the Christian character, and 
leaves us unprepared, as far as they go, for 
those fiery trials of our faith which a good and 
prudent Christian will always expect, however 
he may deprecate their occurrence. 

Such being the advantages of a knowledge of 
the brilliant examples which have gone before 
us, exalting as they do our minds above the 
surrounding common-place to which they are 
too apt to accommodate themselves, and linking 
us by a social feeling to the universal church, 
the setting aside particular days for the especial 
purpose of contemplating them, can alone en- 
sure the requisite steadiness of view, and an 



54 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

effective earnestness of investigation. For ex- 
ample, I take up, on this day, the character of 
St. Peter for my especial meditation, which, 
most probably, but for this notice of it by the 
church, I never should have done $ at least, I 
should have rested content with the vague, tran- 
sitory, and unpractical notions suggested in the 
course of turning over, amid a multitude of 
others in Scripture, the passages which relate 
to him. But now I turn it in every possible 
light, refer to the minutest incident, analyzing 
and composing, till I frame to myself an ade- 
quate conception of his character. I then ex- 
amine myself by it, and review his ardent and 
courageous spirit till I imbibe some portion of 
it myself, and discuss his temporary fall till I 
arrive at a wholesome fear of my own weakness 5 
and, on coming to his restoration, so completely 
do I feel identified with him, I rejoice and glo- 
rify his blessed Master, and my own, as if I had 
been restored together with him. And, last of 
all, I look intently upon that death which, ac- 
cording to his Master's prediction, he under- 
went, and prepare myself also to take up the 
cross of my Lord, and fear him, and not man. 
All these thoughts may have passed through my 
mind often before 3 but it was in a floating, un- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. DO 

directed, unpractical mass, and not arranged as 
now, in clusters, under suitable heads, tending 
to one definite end, and by the point given to 
them, leaving their impression distinct and deep 
both on memory and feelings. Besides, by 
thus steadily following one train, I am led, at 
last, to ideas on the subject, and combinations 
of ideas which had never before presented them- 
selves 5 and I experience with the increase of 
my spiritual knowledge an accession also of 
mental wealth. At a due interval arrives another 
festival, the centre of attraction to another class 
of thoughts, which had else been too loose and 
vague to produce any impression: these, too, I 
fix in permanence. In this manner I am car- 
ried round the year ; my views grow clearer, my 
resolutions more firm 3 such days are to me in- 
deed holy days ; in them I find a secure repose 
for my thoughts from the vulgar turmoil of the 
world around, to which I return at least re- 
freshed, and, I hope I may add, improved. 

Such were my father's views upon this sub- 
ject, and such have I found their value ; habitu- 
ated to these, need I say that we extended our 
religious relations beyond the narrow circle of 
our family, that we considered our places in 
that family as the starting point of our actions, 



56 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

but not as their resting-place : that we looked 
around, behind and before, and saw that we 
affected others, and by others would be affected 5 
that we had succeeded others, and by others 
would be succeeded 5 and that to them we had 
relations extended, and duties owing as fellow- 
members of a society which extends through all 
ranks,, nations, and ages. Solitary as I now am, 
being the last remnant of a numerous family, 
the survivor of relations and of friends, I am 
well able to appreciate this catholicity of feel- 
ing. It forms almost my only social stay 5 the 
past is to me full of gratification, for there I am 
in the company of the faithful servants of 
Christ, whose abode on earth it is so improving 
to contemplate ; and there, too, I meet again with 
the dear inmates of a home which now exists 
but in memory: the present is full of comfort, 
for I feel a brother in every Christian I meet, 
and know that at that moment he is important 

to me, and I to him 3 and the future Oh, how 

glorious its prospect, in which I see myself 
united in one indissoluble body of the just and 
good, whom I have been in the habit of contem- 
plating, and of the blessed spirits whose sweet 
communion I have enjoyed in the flesh, to our 
great and glorious head Jesus Christ, our Re- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. o7 

deemer, who is the end of every thought, word, 
and deed. 

My aged friend here earnestly grasped my 
hand, and returned on his way homeward. 

I. 
A HYMN:— THE MARTYRS. 

We fought ! but in no fleshly gear 

We stood upon the field ; 
Our faith to us was sword and spear, 
Our patience mail and shield. 
Unaw'd we stood, 
'Mid fields of blood, 
'Mid mortal pang and dying groan : 
Groan, pang, and blood were all our own. 

We fought ! and myriads stood around, 

And echoing up to heaven, 
From myriads burst the applauding sound, 
But to our foes 'twas given. 
Taunt, gibe, and jeer, 
'Twas ours to hear, 
And curse, and mockery, and mirth, 
O'er every drop that stain'd the earth. 

We fought ! upon the sand as rain 

Stream'd our big drops of gore, 
And every drop was a seed-grain 

Set in earth's fruitful floor. 



58 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

From each blest spot 

Believers shot, 
Reckless to storms their stems reveal* d : 
God's vineyard crown'd our battle field. 

We fought ! and opening to our sight 

Heaven's radiant gates above, 
Unbarr'd the white-rob'd sons of light, 
And him, our Lord of loye. 
In smiles intent 
O'er us they bent ; 
Men mock'd our helpless solitude : 
'Mid heaven's whole blazing host we stood. 

We fought ! a mangled bleeding load 

Fell on earth's echoing bed ; 
But on the Protomartyr's road, 
Untam'd our spirit fled. 
In tracts of light, 
Imprinted bright, 
His steps shone beacons to our way, 
We reach'd the gates of endless day. 

We fought and won ! and o'er the might 

Of imprecating foes, 
O'er pangs of feeling, pains of sight, 
Triumphant, joyous rose. 
No tear from eye 
From breast no sigh ; 
But, to the vanquisher of Death, 
Hymns rang from our departing breath. 



THE RECTORY OF YALEHEAD. 59 

We fought, and won the Conqueror's crown : 

But in no earthly bower, 
Pisan, or Delphic cliff is grown 
Its interwoven flower. 
But bloomy plant 
Of Amarant, 
It nods o'er life's immortal stream, 
Woos heaven's own breeze, drinks heaven's own beam. 

We fought and won: no mortal eye 

Pores on our trophied bust ; 
For to the sea, the wind, the sky, 
They hurl'd our flaming dust. 
Our Master gave 
A viewless grave, 
The Prophet's burial, who of yore 
From Pisgah's height returu'd no more. 

We fought and won, a world the meed : 

Xot that, where unsubdued, 
Into the conqueror's fortress speed 
Sorrow's relentless brood. 
But throne and seat, 
Where 'neath our feet, 
Sin and his hateful progeny, 
Chain'd down in helpless thraldom lie. 

We fought and won. O thou, whom yet 

Flesh fetters with his chains, 
Survey our freedom, nor forget 

What purchased it, our pains. 



60 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Our cares, our woes, 
Our wounds, our blows, 
To thee were life, and light, and glee, 
So do for those that follow thee. 



II. 

HYMN :-0N ALL SAINTS' DAY. 

Array'd in vest of crimson die, 

As one that hath the winepress trod ; 

Who, art thou, say, that passest by t 

Who these that hymn thee on thy road 1 

The world's full winevat I have prest, 
And trampled in my fury there ; 

Blood is the crimson on my vest, 

They spar'd not, and I would not spare. 

All these my Saints, beneath the feet 
Of earth's relentless tyrants lay, 

And up before my mercy -seat, 

Their cry ascended night and day. 

I rose, I girt me in my strength, 
My glorious armour round me cast ; 

Heaven flash' d thro' all its starry length, 
Earth shook beneath my war-trump's blast ! 

With twice teu thousand angels bright, 
Thousands of chariots in my train, 

Shouting I rode unto the fight : 

They sleep their sleep, who slew are slain. 



THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 6] 

O mighty Conqueror of the grave, 

Captain of martyr'd armies thou, 
O Lord omnipotent to save, 

O King of Kings, I know thee now. 

To the bright seats of rest on high, 

Thou passest with thy saints along, 
The blessed first-fruits of the sky, 

Lord, may I join that holy throng ! 



III. 

HYMN:— ON GOOD FRIDAY. 

Prepare ! the holy Prophet said, 

Rise, son of God, the hour is nigh ! 
In dust a groaning world is laid, 

Hell rears his shameless front on high ! 
In mortal clay 
Thy limbs array, 
Uprise, thou mighty one to save, 
Go forth, thou Conqueror o'er the grave ! 

The Son of God went forth, and lo ! 

Before his steps health's genial heat 
Thrill'd the wide world of Spirit thro', 
And flesh in vigorous pulses beat. 
Hell's hateful door 
Was clos'd once more, 
Heaven's wells of bliss o'erflowing ran : 
Such sifts the Saviour gave to man. 



62 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Prepare ! the holy Prophet cried, 

Thy Saviour comes, O man, prepare ! 
Be every duteous gift supplied, 

Precious and perfect, rich and rare, 
Thy guest to greet, 
And at his feet 
In penitent prostration fling 
Thy will, thy passions, every thing*. 

And man prepar'd, the gibe, the jeer, 

The scorn, the mockery, hate, and spite, 
"Words, looks, to wring the bitter tear, 
The perilous day, the unpillow'd night, 
The heart's keen ache, 
When friends forsake, 
The scourge, the thorn, the cross, the grave 
Sudi gifts man to his Saviour gave. 



IV. 
A REVERIE, IN LENT. 

Methought in Salem's streets I stood, 

And saw in long-drawn pomp pass by 

An eager-visag'd multitude 

That led a prisoner on to die • 

And mock and taunt, and curses loud, 

Rose deafening from the circling* crowd • 

But from the inner ring, that pent 

The victim in, a deep lament 

Now fill'd the curse's interval, 

Now in shrill shriek rose over all. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 63 

By me the drear procession sped ; 

Tottering* beneath his cross, and smear' d 

With gore around his thorn-crown'd head, 

The Saviour of the world appear'd. 

And as he past, on me he laid 

A steady searching glance, which said, 

" And in what troop attendest thou 1 

Weepest or mockest V My sham'd brow 

Silent I hung, and when at last 

I rais'd, the mournful pomp had past. 

'• Weepest or mockest !" — O fond heart, 
Break from thy proud reserve, and tell : 
Reply from every secret part, 
Answer from each remotest cell. 
I weep not — no, I feel and see 
As if no blood had dropp'd for me. 
I weep not — no : without a sigh 
His types the sad, the poor, pass by. 
I weep not — no : unwept are gone 
Past moments : new unwept come on. 

But, oh ! I mock ; each hour renews 
A warning voice within my breast : 
My pride each hour that voice subdues, 
And glories in the ill-purchas'd rest. 
I mock — blest Lord ! thy glorious name 
I bear, to bring it but to shame. 
I mock — man finds me meek and low : 
S tiff-neck' d and unrelenting, thou. 
I mock — O thou long-sufferer, deep 
Cleave this proud heart, and bid it weep ! 



64 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 
V. 

A MEDITATION :— ON EASTER DAY. 

When on these limbs I look, which bear 

And pen my burning spirit in, 
Frail mansion of disease and care, 

Dark hold of passion, home of sin : 
Their beauty but corruption's bloom, 
Their strength but bearer to the tomb ; 

And their informing mind 
An inward sore, from day to day 
That frets and eats poor life away, 

Wounding where none can bind ; 
Oh ! then I feel our downfall sting, 
And groan in anguish, righteous King ! 

But when these limbs I view, and think 
How, pent within their clayey nook, 

That essence, which bids seraphs shrink, 
An earthly residence could brook, 

These veins with heaven's own pureness beat, 

This breast of boundless mind was seat, 
This voice awoke the dead, 

This trunk mid shouting angels rose, 

And all the father's glory glows 
Around this hallow'd head ; 

Oh ! then I feel our loss restor'd, 

And shout thy name, redeeming Lord ! 

O Thou, whose sword wide-waving drove, 
Our sire from Eden's blessed glade, 

O Thou, whose cross with gifts of love 
Tenfold that day of wrath repaid, 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

This bursting heart's presumption tame, 
And fix, with all a rebel's shame, 

Downcast on dust mine eyes ; 
Eut let my thoughts on Spirit's wing 
Up to thy throne, immortal king, 

E'en as thou rosest, rise. 
In hope for future, pain for past, 
So mav I win thy home at last. 



66 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE FIRST MEMBER, SENT OUT INTO THE 
WORLD. 

It was a lovely morning in July, when having 
occasion to visit a remote part of my parish. I 
determined in my return to explore a glen which 
I had observed among the hills on viewing them 
from my churchyard, and had resolved to visit 
on the first opportunity. The woody tops of 
precipices which ran like walls upon each side, 
and were now lost, and now rose in rugged 
majesty, seemed to promise spots of no common 
beauty at their feet 5 and the distant roar which 
ever came from them before rain, (and it was a 
well-known presage,) with the quantity of water 
issuing into our river from that direction, con- 
firmed the supposition. Nor was I in the least 
disappointed, and I may leave my reader to 
judge what scenes I found. I had arrived at 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 6? 

a point where the glen opened enough to admit 
of a strip of fields of brightest green upon one 
side of the stream ; they were divided by hedge- 
rows., in which grew some remarkably fine oaks, 
and gave a great richness to the scene. The 
day w T as hot and sunny, and I made my way to 
sit in the shade of one which hung over the 
stream. Here, to my great surprise, I found 
my friend, who had been from the same reasons 
attracted to the same spot. After mutual con- 
gratulations on finding each other in so well- 
chosen a place, and canvassing each the other's 
ooinion of its beauties, we gradually came upon 
the subject of our late conversations. Such, 
said he, was my dear home: more like a temple 
inhabited by a train of priests ordained to carry 
on the perpetual service of God, than an ordi- 
nary residence : and if God ever shewed amid a 
family the special illumination of his presence, 
he did with us. Our service consisted not in the 
mere utterance of words, however earnest, nor 
succession of forms, however proper, but in the 
uninterrupted offering of the soul and body, 
through the lively exercise of our Christian du- 
ties 3 from the daily collision of hearts and minds 
brought together in the purity of the gospel, 
bright and beautiful sparks were struck out, and 



68 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

examples every moment elicited of filial duty*, 
brotherly love, instant forbearance, caution 
against offence, singleness of heart, cheerful- 
ness, gentleness, meekness, charity. What a 
topic of pride and delight it is with the chil- 
dren of a growing family to compare their sta- 
ture, note their height, remark upon the growth 
of nerve and muscle daily accruing to them, and 
to make trial with each other of their improving 
strength and skill in the games and pastimes of 
the day. So too was it with our spiritual 
growth. Every day a nearer approach to the 
Christian standard was remarked, some defici- 
ency was filled up, some new grace developed, 
or old confirmed, and a continual rivalry and 
challenging went on in the practice of godly 
offices. And while the children of this world 
hail their accessions of bodily and mental 
strength as assurances of being able to make 
their way in the world, and if of generous tem- 
per, of being a shield and buckler to their family, 
so to us, growing up, as we deemed ourselves to 
eternity, every example of increasing spiritual 
strength was a pledge that the possessor would 
not fail to maintain the unity of our spiritual 
household in despite of the endeavours of the 
world against it ; and holding, as we did, that 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 69 

this unity, spiritually established on earth, would 
also endure in heaven, every act of piety was 
an additional earnest of eternal union. Oh, 
what a blessed, what a happy home was mine ! 
Unalterable as our union in spirit has proved 
to me to be, that in the flesh was now shortly 
to cease. The world is every day demanding 
its conscripts, and at last arrived the turn of 
my eldest brother. Oh ! what a lively recol- 
lection I retain (and well I may, for it was the 
first proper event in our family) of that morn- 
ing which began the diminution of our family 
circle. I then awoke as from a dream to the 
world which surrounded us, and which we 
could scarcely be said to have heard or seen. 
I awoke, and looked tremblingly forward to the 
day when my summons also should arrive. I 
can at this moment distinctly and feelingly re- 
call to mind the early hour of meeting on that 
morning, the unusual candlelight, the comfort- 
less cold, darkness, and bustle, the chilly dawn 
discovered in a low ruddy streak just as we 
emerged from the deep shade of the garden to 
attend my brother to the carriage at the gate, 
but, above all, the solemnity of my father's last 
charge and benediction, and the singular conflict 
evidently going on in my brother's mind, whose 



70 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

eye was now overcast with the sorrow of part- 
ing, and the weight of responsibility descending 
upon him, and now lighted up and sparkling 
with anticipation of the novel scene upon which 
he was entering. Ever as I bring back this 
scene to memory, I reflect how often, alas ! how 
very often has that brightness of countenance 
with which the world is contemplated in pros- 
pect become dull upon the actual view, in how 
many has the eye's clear channel, between the 
inner and outer world, become paralyzed with 
sorrow and set in a barren stare, or clogged 
with impurity that corrupted on its passage the 
most wholesome food of the mind. Not that 
any thing of this kind befel my brother ; he 
ran his earthly career in peace and innocence. 

Undoubtedly there is something exceedingly 
awful to reflecting minds in sending forth into 
the world a representative, as it were, of our 
home. His character is the result of all that 
has been said and clone ; in him all seem under 
trial, and as soon as the beloved object has 
quitted embrace and sight, the mind turns for 
comfort to its past communications with him. 
Every word and action, playful sally or grave 
precept, arises in the memory, and challenges 
us to judgment. It is, in fact, the same awful 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAO. 71 

feeling, however inferior in degree, with that 
which we experience in the case of departed 
friends. After the last breath is irrevocably 
gone, and we have retired from the chamber of 
death, we bethink ourselves how this thing said 
or done by us may have hurt the welfare of his 
immortal soul, and bow this, which we have 
left unsaid or undone, would have benefited it. 
Through our long course of intimacy and com- 
munion with him, we feel as if we had sent in 
his mind a portion of our own before the judg- 
ment-seat of Christ • and our common habits, 
studies, enjoyments, and conversation are sifted 
and discussed in our bosoms with doubt and 
anxiety. The most serious minds are naturally 
most liable to such affection, and the elder part 
of our family were now engaged in these re- 
flections. Never shall I forget the solicitude 
with which the first letter from my brother was 
expected. Little as it could really decide, yet 
every one looked forward to it as a resolver of 
his doubts, and his excited imagination insisted 
that the very first contact with the world would, 
like some rapid chemical test, bring his own 
work to the proof, and that, the first few days 
would be at once a specimen and a pledge of 
our brother's future course. 



72 THF RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

After an anxious interval, which, short as it 
could reasonably be, appeared thrice the length 
to us, arrived his first letter. All occupations 
in an instant were at an end, the family met, a 
reader was appointed, a circle made. It was 
indeed a scene to remember $ the elder hung 
with all the intense interest of novelty on scenes 
and circumstances, many of them perhaps un- 
conceived before, all unwitnessed, and their 
breathless attention was now and then distracted 
by the younger ones demanding the explanation 
of some term hitherto unheard, which according 
to its association, the interest of the passage, or 
the detail it would require, was either joyfully 
interpreted upon the spot, or impatiently and" 
imperfectly explained, or perhaps abruptly re- 
fused its interpretation with reproving looks, 
and beckonings to silence. The letter was most 
satisfactory 5 it at once dispelled the gloomy 
phantoms of the imagination, and we put up his 
name in our evening prayer with all the ear- 
nestness of joy and gratitude. On this retro- 
spect, how thankful do I feel to our heavenly 
Lord and Master ; and though so many, very 
many years, have elapsed, I feel the same spirit 
which warmed my bosom then, revive with a 
glow upon the recollection. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 73 

Wonderful, indeed, was the effect which the 
various circumstances attending and following 
my brother's departure had upon those who 
were left behind. To speak of myself, I know 
that the continual anxiety expressed by my pa- 
rents, the solemn and appropriate prayer by 
which he was set apart from the rest at morn- 
ing and evening, the thanksgiving regularly 
offered for any success or escape from peril 
bodily or spiritual, and the constant entreaties 
put up to obtain for him God's protection, which 
enumerated in plaintive and deprecatory ex- 
pressions some of the snares to which he was 
most liable, all this, you may suppose, left upon 
my mind a deep and lasting impression. I 
learned by degrees to look forward to that 
world, my entrance upon which I before so im- 
patiently expected, with a salutary anxiety, and 
to regard it, however calm and bright it may 
now appear, as a scene of future tempest and 
trial. I clearly understood that whatever novel- 
ties it may unveil, it had incalculably more than 
I had dreamed of, or could dream of, and these 
of no engaging description ; that it had with all 
its scenes of bliss and enchanted gardens, its 
shipwrecks, its monsters, its savage islands and 
inhospitable shores. Moreover, from comparing 



74 THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 

my brother's disposition as exhibited there with 
what I had known of it at home, I perceived 
their close connexion, saw that I was under a 
state of discipline, and that what might seem 
even trivial here, was, nevertheless, elementary 
to most important results there 3 that therefore 
it came equally under God's eye, and equally 
reaped future retribution for good or for evil. 
Much, too, I learned personally from my dear 
brother, who gave me the benefits of his expe- 
rience, on occasional returns to home. At 
length, he came like the dove to the ark, to tell 
us that the waters were fast abating, and that 
we may shortly venture forth in safety : under 
his auspices 1 entered upon the world. 

Often do I think of the preciousness of the 
reward with which God, even during this life, 
rewards the pious exertions of a parent. In 
contrast to the blissfulnesss of my own, I have 
now witnessed the shame, sorrow and agony of 
more families than one, when their first-fruits 
have been blighted, when the very worst that 
their imaginations, stung by conscience or alarm- 
ed by sorrow, had been picturing, has been 
realized, and they stood in their own eyes as 
authors and confederates in his sins, when irre- 
vocable word and deed is conjured up in an 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 75 

agonized memory, and calls forth tears and sob- 
bings, wben the little ones beheld the elder 
bathed in tears, and they could not, dare not, 
explain to their innocent hearts the real cause. 
*-* Is he ill } " " Is he dead } " they ask • and, 
" Oh, happy if he had been, before he had thus 
fallen," is ready to burst from their lips. I have 
also before now turned away in disgust from 
those foolish and selfish murmurers, who, having 
sent their poor child all unprovided with what 
alone could guide him through the temptations 
of the world, have thrown the odious burden of 
their sin upon those to whose care they com- 
mitted them, after having by previous neglect 
deprived them of all power of effecting good. 

It was some days after my brother's depar- 
ture, and not before we received his first letter, 
that we could reconcile ourselves to his disap- 
pearance 5 so many, so obvious, and so minute 
are the circumstances which determine the place 
of a member of a numerous family, that his 
image rises up before us at every step or turn. 
The emptiness of his chamber, his usual place 
at the table unfilled, a favorite walk disconti- 
nued, a voice no longer heard in the general 
conversation, even a step no longer observed 
amid the multitudinous din of a numerous house- 



76 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

hold, bring home to us a sense of diminished 
numbers, and provoke, before we have time to 
reflect, a repining sigh, or murmuring ejacula- 
tion. Yet with us there was no idle or pro- 
longed regret. Our cheerfulness assumed in- 
deed a more subdued character, but never failed 
us. Why should it ? We had well habituated 
ourselves before-hand to count the cost of what, 
sooner or later, must be undergone 5 and, more- 
over, knit as we had been in those bonds which 
neither time nor place can weaken, we could 
never regard him as entirely absent. Yes, my 
dear friend, be assured that so strong, so un- 
earthly become the bonds which unite those 
who have long lived together in the unity of 
the spirit, no less than community of blood, that 
they undoubtedly enjoy a certain, though unde- 
flnable, fruition of each other's presence 3 they 
hear each other's voices speaking in the depth 
of their bosoms, dissuading, approving, comfort- 
ing, rejoicing, and thus realize, to its fullest ex- 
tent, that blessed privilege, alas ! how seldom 
enjoyed, or even understood, of the communion 
of saints. 

It must, however, be confessed that there is 
something of melancholy, not entirely to be 
surmounted in the flesh, in this gradual dimi- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 77 

nution of the family circle. It is evidently fol- 
lowing the fate of all things earthly 5 and the 
successive demands of this world, coming, like 
the conscription of a furious war, upon the 
young and vigorous, and bearing them aw T ay 
ever as they reach the proper standard, and 
leaving behind but a helpless society of women 
and children, reminds one fearfully of the order 
in which the next world too frequently does, 
and in their case may, make its exactions. Yet, 
deserted and declining as the household may 
appear, she has her comfort and causes of con- 
gratulation. In each of the settlers w r hich she 
has sent forth, she may look for a nourishing 
colony, and see herself prolonged and multiplied 
in beautiful resemblances. Like Judah in her 
desolation, she is comforted with a proportion- 
ately greater brightness of prophecy : she may 
expect to stand in the majestic relation of a 
mother church, another Jerusalem, and sur- 
rounded by dutiful and holy daughters, each 
receiving from her hands, and proud to have 
received, her faith, her ritual, to await the 
coming of her Lord and Master, in his own good 
time, with confidence and hope 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

GOD'S CONSCRIPT. 

Come forth, my precious first-born, come, 

Away with weeds of soft delight ; 
Adieu to joys of peaceful home — 

Come, we must dress thee for the fight : 
For at my gate 
God's heralds wait, 
And claim thee for his warring host ; 
Heaven's Conscript, haste, and take thy post. 

O Thou, to fight the world design' d ! 
Lo ! first around thy boyish head 
Salvation's starry helm we bind, 

Its blood-red plumage o'er thee shed. 
Proof to hell's dart, 
Across thy heart 
In holy confidence we press 
The seven-fold plate of righteousness. 

Next, clasping round thy loins, we brace 

Truth's radiant belt ; upon thy feet 
The sandals of the gospel place : 
Now is thy vest of steel complete. 
Go, warrior, go, 
Defy the foe, 
Thy head is clad, thy feet are shod 
With all the panoply of God. 

Last, to thy right hand we entrust 

The Spirit's sword — uplift, and wield ; 

And, blazing on thy left, adjust 
Faith's broad impenetrable shield. 



THE RECTORY OF VALE HE AD. 79 

See to the air 

Thy banner glare, 
Christ's blood-red cross — there, there, my Son, 
Ten thousand saints have fought and won. 

Xow is thy every want prepared, 

And ready stands this chosen train, 
In battle's heat thy body-guard, 

Reproach and Hatred, Care and Pain. 
Fear not, my child, 
Their aspect wild, 
A seraph each disguis'd will prove, 
Glory and Gladness, Peace and Love. 

Thou shalt with griding wounds be gor'd. 

But see what healing balm I bring ; 
Xot costlier that which Mary pour'd 
Upon the everlasting King. 
All pangs of hell 
Its virtues quell, 
Nerve with new strength in battle's strife. 
Accept, my Son, the word of life. 

Ha ! thro' that bold and manly brow, 

Invrard lament, aud tears I scan. 
O yes ! tis sad aside to throw 
The stay aud sympathy of man. 
With rude controul, 
The yearning soul 
To wrest from twinborn flesh, and lean 
In spirit upon things unseen. 



80 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Upon thy Master's gory cross, 

Unflinching heart and will to bend, 
Feel joy in sorrow, gain in loss, 

Torture in ease, and foe in friend : — 
Deem hate, want, sword, 
Thy richest hoard, 
Find death in life, and life in death : — 
Go, boy — God claims thy latest breath. 

Now thou hast had my last embrace, 

Hast heard thy father's last command, 
Turn, turn from home thy longing face, 
Go, take in God's bright host thy stand ; 
The battle's din 
Comes rolling in, 
God's saints are shouting ; hie thee, hie, 
March, boy, and share their victory. 



THE RECTORY OF YALEHEAD. 81 



CHAPTER VI. 

THE ANNUAL MEETING OF THE FAMILY. 

My friend one day paid me a visit unusually 
early, and told me that lie was come upon his 
own invitation to pass the day with me. I was 
surprised, because I knew it was his rule to give 
a certain portion of the morning to his studies, 
and other occupations, before quitting the house 
either upon business or amusement. He ap- 
peared likewise unusually thoughtful, if not 
depressed. But this appearance gradually wore 
away as the day advanced. He did not propose 
any excursion, and our day's walk was confined 
to a turfy terrace in my garden, which com- 
mands a long view of the public road, where it 
runs upon the opposite side of the dingle, and at 
length vanishes over an ivied bridge, underneath 
which the torrent is seen foaming into the glen, 



82 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

and afterwards disappearing and re-appearing 
amidst a most picturesque combination of rock 
and wood. At that bridge, ever as he turned 
round, he cast a fixed, and, as it were, recol- 
lective look, and then hastily withdrew it, with 
an action that seemed to shew that he was 
willing to shake off the thoughts which the sight 
of it suggested. At length, after an interval of 
silence had succeeded one of these contempla- 
tions, he began. 

The sight of that bridge, you have no doubt 
observed, affects me much. It is just one mile 
from the manor-house and church, and the mile- 
stone which stands upon the centre-arch, was 
always hailed by me with boyish delight, as an 
assurance that home was at hand, whose terri- 
tories seemed to commence from that point 5 
and no less, on leaving home, it was a signal to 
forget it, and resign ourselves to the world, 
w T hose realm thence began and expanded into 
unlimited and unknown dreariness. To-day it 
becomes invested with peculiar importance : for 
this is the day of the year upon which all our 
absent members met under their father's roof, 
and the different parties which on this day were 
wont to hail its appearance with affectionate de- 
light, have been crossing my mind. Alas ! it is 



THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. S3 

to me indeed a bridge of sighs. In truth, it is 
this anniversary which has brought me here to 
ask a refuge with you this day ; for, though 
I was not present at many such celebrations 
myself, after once leaving home, yet to spend it 
in the very house and room where we used to 
assemble our joyous members, sole remnant as I 
am, I feared would be a trial to which I had 
neither right nor reason to expose myself. It 
is easy to despise these weaknesses of the flesh 
spiritually, and so I certainly do, but it is not so 
easy to dismiss or subdue them bodily ; there I 
should be on this day at the very central link of 
my most melancholy associations, and, however 
on other occasions I can calmly hold converse 
with those blessed spirits, yet, upon this day 
and in that place, they seem to resume flesh and 
blood. I therefore quitted the scene while yet 
its effects were resistible. 

This day of meeting was always on the 
Saturday succeeding the anniversary of the 
marriage of our parents, and was so ordered to 
the end that all (some of whom had but a short 
time to spare upon it) may be present on the 
Sunday, when the whole family presented them- 
selves, in grateful token of his continued pro- 
tection, at the table of the Lord, exhibiting be- 



84 THE RECTORY OF VALEIIEAD. 

fore him their unbroken line, blessing his holy 
name for past favours, and imploring his grace 
to make them worthy of their continuance. We 
thus exhibited, upon a small scale, an image of 
the great day of the Jews' Passover, when that 
prototype of all families, the family of Israel, 
met from every corner of the earth, in the 
temple of the Lord, and defiled before him in an 
innumerable throng, the substantial testimony 
of the endurance of his promises. 

The day was well known to the neighbour- 
hood, and a crov/d of congratulators w T as al- 
ways collected around the doGr, the poor were 
regaled, the steeple rang a merry peal, and on 
the Sunday our procession to church passed 
through a long lane of parishioners, who made 
a point of coming from the remotest parts, de- 
spite of all obstacles on this day, to testify their 
esteem for their pastor, by every token of reve- 
rence and love. The day of arrival was one 
indeed of breathless hurry and agitation. The 
interval necessary to the welcoming the arrival 
of one dear object, and indulging the first burst 
of affection, was yet unfinished, when another 
was announced, and the last straggler was 
seldom gathered in till the moment before the 
clock, whose simple well-known knell then 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. S5 

went to the very heart, summoned us to evening 
p raver ; and oh ! what prayer was that. Our 
hearts were full, even to bursting, with the sen- 
sible proof of God's mercies, past and continued : 
and the expressions of our simple liturgy, inter- 
woven with every thing most dear and sacred, 
the spiritual milk of our childhood, coming now 
to our experience with a deeper meaning, and 
put up still in that voice to which from our 
cradle we had listened with dutiful and affec- 
tionate reverence, searched every secret of the 
bosom, and poured it out in a full tide of adora- 
tion at the throne of mercy. The day passed 
in the mutual communication of our several 
states and prospects, from which we often di- 
gressed to notice the younger members of the 
family, still unfledged, who w T ere now before our 
eyes, growing up in that discipline, to which we 
felt ourselves so much indebted. 

Our family rose early, for indulgence in sleep 
was always reprobated among us as an injury 
done to nature, both in body and mind : but my 
father was ever earliest. Whoever first entered 
the room always found him engaged over Scrip- 
ture, or some volume of divinity, which he then 
laid aside : at this time he was more than 
usually cheer fuL As each entered the room, he 



86 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

regarded them with a fixed and penetrating 
look, from which a benevolent smile round his 
lips took off all that could make it the least dis- 
agreeable. I have heard him explain it : he 
would say, I know no feeling so exquisite, 
though it has been every day repeated for so 
many years, (praised be God !) as that of the 
sight of my family in the morning. Having 
myself risen quite a renovated being, no particle 
remaining of that weary, and perhaps painful 
load, with which I yesternight pressed my bed, 
and seeing them whom I then parted from, re- 
turning to me with smiling and healthy counte- 
nances, I experience a renewal, as it were, of my 
existence, and fresh myself, seem to receive 
my children afresh from the hand of God. I 
look and scrutinize their features, that I may 
discern in them traces of that blessed commu- 
nion, from which they are just returned to earth, 
and given to me again, and when I press their 
hands, feel an union with them which is quite 
unutterable. And do you think, that upon such 
an occasion I do not look forward to that last 
morning of universal rising, when the good, 
having cast oif the bondages of pain and care 
with which they lay down to rest, shall rise in 
heavenly vigour for everlasting day, and 1 too 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. S7 

(I humbly hope) shall receive my family at the 
hands of my Saviour, not one member wanting, 
never to part again. Oh ! the thought is my 
continual stay and comfort. 

There is something indescribably joyous in 
the assemblage of a family at the first meal of 
the day, when previous prayer and praise have 
consecrated it as the merciful continuance of 
past blessings, and as the earnest of future. The 
heart having been jointly lifted up with others 
in all its morning freshness, experiences a calm 
and security, which the world has yet had no 
time to ruffle ; and on looking round the circle 
of beloved objects, when I saw it still full, not- 
withstanding the breaches which sickness and 
death are making day and night upon such clus- 
ters of society, saw it still enjoying together the 
bounties of God's hand, notwithstanding the 
crowds to which they are daily denied, I have 
thought the mercies of the Almighty came to 
me multiplied tenfold. He had continued them 
not to one of us only, but to the whole body. 
Our meal thus refreshed not only the body, but 
the spirit too, and bore, I sometimes fancied, a 
reference to that which our Lord ate with his 
disciples at Emmaus on the day of his resur- 
rection 5 there was in it a fulness of joy, of joy 



88 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

the fruit of spiritual thankfulness not unbe- 
coming the partakers of the resurrection, a type 
and earnest of which they had newly experienced 
in rising from sleep. 

The benefit of these periodical re-unions is 
too obvious to dwell upon. It must have been 
much increased at a later period, when I was 
away. Then two of my brothers were married, 
and their families met under the roof of their 
common father : thus the children were brought 
to an intermediate link between home and the 
world, to a relation distant enough to enlarge 
their notions, and yet near enough to maintain 
their affections, and in the presiding patriarch, 
the object of their own parent's love and re- 
verence, they saw a substantial example of 
those higher relations which children have such 
difficulty in conceiving. 

I used to come home on these occasions like 
a thirsty hart to the brook 3 the world dries up, 
in despite of every endeavour, the freshness and 
flow of heart which we take from home. I 
gave myself up therefore entirely to its enjoy- 
ments, and imbibed its refreshing holiness at 
every mental pore) the time indeed was short: 
it seldom exceeded three days, and we parted 
cheerfully in full confidence of God's protec- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 89 

tion. I remember, however, that at our meet- 
ing which preceded the first death in our fa- 
mily, some forebodings manifested themselves 
amongst us 3 they were not directly declared by 
any one, and yet by various ways were discovered 
to be shared by all. Not that I attribute any 
thing extraordinary,, still less supernatural, to 
such ominous feelings. It was natural, after 
we had met several times, and were now, from 
age, occupation, and other circumstances, more 
exposed to accidents, for reflecting minds to 
entertain such notions. This was the first time 
that they were generally entertained, and the 
corresponding event shortly following, invested 
them with the dignity of prophecy. However 
it be, my father evidently felt no less strongly 
than the rest, and the charge which he gave us 
on rising from prayer (in which his tone was 
deepened to unusual solemnity) on the morning 
of departure, shewed how deeply he was im- 
pressed. My dearest children, he said, we have 
once more, through the continuance of his mer- 
ciful goodness, presented an unbroken line be- 
fore the Lord. We have jointly prayed for a 
prolonging of his mercies, and I doubt not that 
he will prolong. But do not presume upon 
this coming in the particular shape which we, 



90 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

frail and ignorant mortals, may have been de- 
siring, but be assured that it will arrive in such 
a way as may be best for us 5 he will not re- 
verse, through our prayers, those laws by which 
in his bounty and wisdom he governs the world, 
and, therefore, a family numerous as ours cannot 
expect to proceed much farther on the journey 
of life with undiminished numbers. A great 
portion of the advantages conferred by sur- 
rounding each of us with so many worthy ob- 
jects of esteem and love, is now well nigh 
accomplished 5 our affections have been nur- 
tured up in pure and holy communion, our 
spiritual strength, in which we so much assisted 
each other, is now sufficiently firm in each to 
enable him to stand alone 3 the preparatory dis- 
cipline of home, therefore, is reaching its close, 
and it is usual in God's dealings with this world 
to withdraw the means as soon as the end shall 
have been attained. It behoves us, therefore, 
whenever this occasion recurs, to think and feel 
as if it were the last. Uninterrupted happiness 
is very far from being a proof of God's favour, 
and we should love this world too much, were 
he to continue to us unimpaired the blessings 
of the communion which we are now enjoying. 
Every family must one day vanish from beneath 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 91 

the sun, and leave its place in the soil of God's 
vineyard to be occupied by another. Look at 
the unceasing march which is going on from 
this world to the next ; flesh is daily escaping 
from our eyes into spirit., and the visible church 
fast melting into the invisible. And shall we, 
in the sight and daily contemplation of such 
changes, expect to remain stationary ? Oh no ! 
soon, very soon, the communion of some of us 
with you will be no longer in the flesh. I 
think that I perceive among you some mis- 
givings of our present stability • repel them 
not, for God hath put them into your hearts to 
prepare you. Yea ! take heed to yourselves, 
my children, murmur not, but be ready for the 
separation, and learn (if indeed ye need to learn, 
and my teaching has been in vain,) to look 
upon the world into which ye are now upon 
the point of going, to be scattered once again 
from underneath this roof, as a lively type of 
the grave into which we shall all finally be 
dispersed, and this our joyful re-assemblage as 
a figure of our eternal re-union 3 and as the 
inertness of the grave to our present vivid feel- 
ings, even such consider these feelings to be, 
compared with those intense and heavenly affec- 
tion s with which we shall be then endued. Let 



92 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAP. 

us not, therefore, be taken by surprise, but 
looking forward to the first diminution of our 
numbers, consider this, when it comes, as a 
signal that the days of our wanderings in this 
wilderness of care are nearly accomplished, that 
our spies have reached the promised land, and 
that w r e shall shortly follow. 

Finally, my dear children, I charge you in his 
words, who hath so gloriously set before us the 
resurrection of the dead, and the life to come ; 
not to be faint and weary in the work of the 
Lord, for you know that your labour is not in 
vain in the Lord 5 and remember that much, 
very much, has been done for you, and much, 
very much, will be required. May the guidance 
of God's Holy Spirit be with you ; may the 
Lord Jesus protect you 3 farewell 1 

On that we all rose up to part 5 silent tears 
were shed, close embraces given, and my father 
pronounced his blessing over each with even 
more than wonted fervour and solemnity. It 
was a scene of sorrow, but of that godly sorrow, 
that peace and uncomplaining resignation of 
mind, which the Ephesian Elders experienced 
on parting with St. Paul. We were, indeed, 
losing each other's bodily presence, but felt 
assured of the continuance of our spiritual, 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 93 

through all chances and changes. In a few 
minutes afterwards, we had quitted the door. 
we bowled over that bridge : and yonder, where 

this road branches into several more, parted to 
our several destinations. 

We never met in our full number aa'ain. 



THY HOME. 

Where is thy home \ — not where thy sc il 
Is joyous o'er the ruddy bowl, 
Where harp and viol thro 3 the day 

And down at night keep care at hay. 
O heir of a most glorious sphere, 

Look farther still — it is not here. 

Where is thy home"? — not where thy breast 
With cold is nurab'd, with hunger prest, 
r\ or day brings ease, nor night repose, 
Morn opes with toils, eve shuts with woes. 
O heir of a more glorious sphere, 
Look farther still — it is not here. 

Where is thy home? — not where all ranges.. 

Threading a thousand dismal changes; 

Y\ here young grows old, and long grows brief, 

Friend turns to foe, and joy to grief. 

O heir of a more glorious sphere, 

Look farther still — it is not here. 



94 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Where is thy home 1 — not where the breath 

Thou sceutest every hour of death, 

And startest at the crashing sound 

Of all thou lovest falling round. 

O heir of a more glorious sphere, 

Look farther still — it is not here. 

Where is thy home? — not where to learn 
Is but thy folly to discern, 
And wisdom's privilege to know 
A wider range of crime and woe. 
O heir of a more glorious sphere, 
Look farther still — it is not here. 

Where is thy home 1 — not where thy heart 
Hears earth's impatient cry, " depart," 
And all her shapes each moment say, 
" Thou art a stranger ; hence, away !" 
O heir of a more glorious sphere, 
Look farther still — it is not here. 

Where is thy home 1 — where tear and groan, 

And change and crime are names unknown, 

Where wisdom, pareness, bliss, are one, 

And thou, no longer guest, art son. 

O heir of an undying sphere, 

No farther look — thy home is here. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 95 



CHAPTER VII. 

A RAMBLE OF A MEMBER OF THE FAMILY. 

I mentioned before my unexpected meeting' 
with my friend one morning in a distant spot. 
He had become celebrated in the neighbour- 
hood for the length and loneliness of the walks 
which he was in the habit of taking, of greater 
length and frequency, it seemed to us, than 
was suitable to his advanced years. It was 
evident that he was now retracing, in his old 
age, the favorite rambles of his youth, and 
I was entreated by his housekeeper to exert 
what influence I had in moderating his ardour. 
She observed, nevertheless, that, however fa- 
tigued, he always returned in spirits, even 
when he had left the house in an evident fit 
of dejection. 

Once or twice he took me as his companion, 



96 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

which I considered no trifling compliment. 
On one of these occasions, he led me to the 
summit of a lofty headland, which rises pre- 
cipitously at the mouth of a valley, so as to 
divide its fertile width, and change it into two 
wild and narrow passes 5 the eye commands 
from it a great extent of mountainous pros- 
pect, and hence he pointed out to me some of 
his most favorite spots. Do you observe, he 
said, that cluster of cone-shaped peaks, rising 
in faint blue, above the deep indigo of the 
general ridge, forming our horizon 5 the sea 
washes their base : they were, consequently, to 
me the representatives of an unknown world, 
and here have I sat for hours, and meditated 
upon that world, upon which I was conscious 
that I must one day enter. I pictured to my 
imagination the cities, the ships, and the crowds 
which they overlooked, and almost envied these 
inanimate spectators. Philosopher never looked 
more earnestly on the moon than I in my spe- 
culations upon yonder peaks. 

After some further comment, he directed 
my eye, with his finger, over another ramble. 
I traced it in the line of a green sheep-track, 
across a hill, whence it followed a pathway in 
a deep glen, and a line of black specks in the 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 97 

distant stream denoted the massive stepping- 
stones over which it passed 5 its termination 
was a waterfall, hidden behind a projecting 
crag, but its situation was discoverable from 
the light clouds of spray which ever and anon 
sped across the valley. Other rambles were 
pointed out in succession, till I confess that I 
began to grow weary of looking, and should 
assuredly weary my reader with describing. 

When at length he had finished thus directing 
my attention, he said, of all that I saw and see 
scarcely any thing seems changed 5 not so much 
as a hut or a tree. Nay, the very gleams and 
shadows look as if they had been reposing un- 
disturbed upon the landscape these forty years 5 
and though both my frame of mind and external 
circumstances are now so altered, as to have 
but little communion with the thoughts which 
this scene used formerly to suggest, such is its 
magical effect, as to call up those long-forgotten 
trains in a bosom so adverse, or at least indif- 
ferent, to their entertainment. This view al- 
ways excited in me an undefinable melancholy, 
which I believe to be the universal effect of 
beautiful scenery upon minds capable of enjoy- 
ing it. That feeling, however, was so far from 
unpleasing, that I sought the indulgence of it. 

H 



98 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

There was in it a sanctity of feeling, an out- 
pouring of the heart before God, a deep sense 
of my fleeting estate here, and an earnest 
yearning after things still better and more 
beautiful than what I beheld so glowing around 
me. Every sensible bosom must experience 
somewhat of this, but I place its peculiar cha- 
racter among the many happy results of the 
society and unremitting sympathy of a religious 
home, which is of such efficacy as to continue 
its impulse upon our solitary moments. Living 
under the same moral clime and mental sky, 
we never feel distinctly apart from each other, 
and, assured of our spiritual union, can afford to 
indulge in reflections upon our earthly separa- 
tion. Of this separation we are warned by the 
face of nature, the instant that we quit the door. 
Her steadfast and unchangeable forms, her 
mountains, her rivers, and her valleys, come 
into immediate contact, and contrast with the 
changes of which we are conscious in ourselves, 
and sensible in others. The fading foliage of 
the wood, the transitory gleam of sunshine, 
awake, indeed, the same feeling - 7 but there we 
seem at least upon a par, and regard the lesson 
which they read us as the admonition of an 
equal, born to die like ourselves. But in the 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 99 

lesson which is read to us by the changeless 
and unorganized forms of nature, there is all the 
decision and sternness of a superior. We feel 
ourselves looked down upon, fleeting beings of 
an hour, by these gigantic witnesses of the 
creation. Hence a feeling of humiliation and 
melancholy which I have often thought it re- 
quired all the consolations of Christianity to com- 
bat : combined, however, with these, I found it 
pleasing, so that I could regard all with a cheer- 
ful smile, take their rude and menacing hints 
with all good will, and the more dear to me the 
objects of home, the more could I afford to in- 
dulge in it. Through a perishable world, I 
looked to an imperishable -, I felt safe and fixed 
in my spiritual station, and, like the spectator 
described by the poet, felt peculiar and height- 
ened enjoyment in the view of its contrast with 
the violent and unceasing changes around me. 

When the mind has once come to this under- 
standing with nature, and arrived at what lies 
beyond her brute and outward shapes, it ac- 
quires a wonderful power of analogy, and ra- 
pidly passes, by means of visible objects, as by 
symbols, to what is invisible. A prospect 
spread before it, like this, seems (but I cannot 
adequately express myself) to be an enormous 



100 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

vest thrown over the spiritual world, to prevent 
our giddiness, by hiding from the eye its tre- 
mendous profundity, and w T e delight to specu- 
late upon what portions of that world may lie 
beneath this or that fold of the garment, and 
give it its peculiar shape. A moral starts up 
to the mind in every object, every thing around 
pours forth a spiritual lesson, and the eye, with 
more powerful magic than that enjoyed by the 
hand of Midas, turns every thing to gold ; pe- 
culiar thoughts, and peculiar combinations of 
thought, present themselves in a scene, however 
familiar to the eye : the least difference, as a 
gleam of light, strikes a different key note in 
the mind, leads a different arrangement of 
thought, presides over a different melody. Thus 
the mind runs through its whole compass, be- 
comes acquainted with all its resources, feels 
conscious of its capability of enjoyment, and 
derives that enjoyment from objects, and changes 
of objects, which to the vulgar, if observed at 
all, appear minute and uninteresting. 

I do not deny that much of this enjoyment 
may be perceived by a mind, whose religious 
feelings are comparatively superficial. But, 
assuredly, the lessons derived are much less 
wholesome, and have a constant tendency to 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 101 

establish there a natural religion, in exclusion 
to revealed ; indeed, it appears to me that the 
habitual contemplation of Nature, unless directed 
by a strong bias, previously impressed, (and 
where and how so strongly as in such a home 
as mine,) leads its indulger into imminent dan- 
ger of reverting to that imperfect stage, which 
gave rise to the superstitions of heathenism, 
when the mind, transported with the lovely 
combinations presented to it, and enabled to 
proceed from these to still more lovely and 
magnificent in its own conceptions, cannot 
allow such beauty to exist without some mind 
of a higher order being ever present to enjoy it, 
cannot admit it to be wasted for a moment 
upon insensibility. Hence it assigns a sacred- 
ness to every romantic spot, peoples streams, 
woods, and mountains, with forms of divinity, 
and bows before the creatures of its own imagi- 
nation. I have myself seen several examples 
of practical infidelity among the professed ad- 
mirers of nature, which, in weak minds, was 
rendered still more disgusting by a mawkish 
sentimentality, which it mistook for religious 
feeling • and have met with magnificent talkers 
upon the glory of God, as set forth in nature, — 
how all that we see composed his temple, how 



102 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

earth was its floor, the sky its dome — whose re- 
ligion seemed to be confined to a round of such 
unmeaning and unprofitable phrases. But a 
mind deeply imbued with the truths of revealed 
religion, instead of being bewildered in the 
tumult of thoughts presented, and being intoxi- 
cated with the idea of its own wealth, framing 
arbitrary and capricious notions, and being thus 
taken captive, as it were, by its own people, 
has the proper bonds of association already 
furnished, its peculiar powers of selection pre- 
viously formed, and the man comes upon the 
face of nature, not to find his religion there, but 
with it burning in his bosom. He exercises a 
complete dominion over the irregular crowd of 
ideas which is rapidly flowing in upon him from 
without, and compels them to blend in with the 
holy thoughts which he has already in treasure 
there, assimilates them, and brings them into 
complete subjection to the healthy and vigorous 
organization of his mind. 

The first emotion excited, being a sense of 
God's infinite wisdom, power, and goodness, 
suggested by the outward objects, may indeed 
be the same with that of natural religion. But 
then it is momentary, being only introductory 
to the deeper feeling of revealed, which imme- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 103 

diately, as it were by impulse, starts up in the 
bosom, much in the same way as the brute 
inanimate forms without put into exercise our 
lively organs, or as those comparatively coarse 
organs of the body stir into action the spiritual 
operations of the soul. And it is as impossible 
for the truly religious Christian to rest in that 
first impression on his mind, as for the educated 
man in the first upon his organs. As the latter 
differs from the savage, so the former from the 
man of mere natural religion. 

With my thoughts and feelings fresh from a 
holy home, I came each day upon this lovely 
scenery, and the sense of such blessings without,, 
confirmed me in the consciousness of the value 
of that which I had received within. My 
thoughts ran, indeed, in new trains, and there- 
fore with more vigour and pleasure 5 but still it 
was reviewing the same grand object in dif- 
ferent lights, and I never for a moment part- 
ed with the feeling of being one of that flock 
which was once lost, but now is again being 
gathered under the great shepherd, Christ 
Jesus. 

How blessed, after such excursions, was the 
return to the calm but deep sympathy of the 
family circle, to be again in communion with 



104 THE RECTORY OF VALEIIEAD. 

beings which were not only shadows and types, 
like those of dumb nature, but realities and sub- 
stantial pledges too 3 who were not of this world 
only,, but of the next also 5 on whom, when we 
looked, we were answered with thought for 
thought, affection for affection, and, pouring out 
the treasures of our late meditation, experienced 
a consciousness of our renewed energy of mind, 
and enjoyed the interchange of pious reflection. 
Such society I have no longer to receive me 
upon my return 3 nevertheless, the good effect 
remains, and little should I have profited by 
what I have been detailing, were I for a moment 
to complain. 

Having now rested for a considerable time, 
and observing the day wearing fast apace, we 
descended the hill upon our return. I left the 
old man at his door, with a strong feeling of 
pity for the solitude to which I was consign- 
ing him. He bade me, however, a cheerful 
farewell, and promised, in a few days, to con- 
duct me upon another of his favorite rambles. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 105 



RAMBLES IN THE VALLEY. 

I. 

The Glen. 

I came my favorite glen to seek, 
To gaze upon its oaken wood, 

Its rocky headland, cloud- capt peak, 
Its whiten'd tower, and sparkling flood. 
Alas ! I came to seek in vain. 
Dark folds of mist, and drizzly rain 

Thickly envelop'd all. 

But on my ear with deafening clang, 
From viewless heights incessant rang 

Its furious waterfall. 

Shut out from sight, I felt that din 

Vibrate beyond my outer ear ; 

I heard it speak my breast within. 

See typified, O mortal, here, 

An hour that soon must come to thee, 

When all that thou did'st love to see 

Shall sink in sorrow's veil : 

And from behind the dripping screen, 
As now, the voice of things unseen 
Shall tell a fearful tale. 

A voice from follies flown and past, 
A voice from retribution nearing, 

A voice from health no more to last, 
A voice from comrades disappearing', 



106 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

A voice from the dull world that flies, 
A voice from parting vanities, 
A voice from outliv'd bliss, 

A voice from the wide- gaping tomb, 
A voice from the dread world to come — 
Go, Mortal, think on this. 



II. 
The Ruin. 



I made for Buildwas, — o'er her graves, 
Her shatter'd tombs, her rifted tower, 

Her shafts where the tall ivy waves, 
To pass a contemplative hour. 
And, as I journey 'd, in my mind 
A picture of old days design 'd, 

Forgotten rites renew'd. 

And I beheld assembled there, 

From porch to chancel bow'd in prayer, 

A countless multitude. 

The vase with holy water teem'd, 
The pealing organ shook the nave, 

Hoar clouds of fragrant incense steam'd, 
Bright lamps a flood of radiance gave. 
And from their chairs of sculptur'd stone, 
Three gorgeous priests, as from a throne, 

Survey 'd the prostrate train. 
Image on image fir'd my breast, 
And, with the dazzling show possest, 

I stood within the fane. 



THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 107 

There all the consecrated ground, 

Nave, chapel, choir, and aisle, 
Throug'd by a bleating* flock I found : 

Quite crowded was the pile. 
The holy vase with waves was fill'd 
From Heaven's own sacred breast distill'd, 
And in the stony chair 

A shepherd's boy, with cord and crook, 

Kept watch, with contemplative look, 
Upon his fleecy care. 

O God ! how simple, how severe 

Thy mockeiy, when thou would'st deride 
The fools that deem to please thine ear 
With pomp of power, and rites of pride, 
Thou by a stripling did'st rebuke 
A giant's might, and here thy look 
In bitter jeer hath smil'd : 

And thou, to shew thy scorn and hate, 
Of cowering crowds and priestly state, 
Hast chosen a flock and child. 



RAMBLES UP THE STREAM. 

I. 

The Still Stream. 

Oh stream ! on which my boyhood play'd 

In many a reckless freak, 
To manhood's eye, severe and staid, 

How different dost thou speak. 



108 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Then as I clave 

Thy glassy wave, 
How joy'd I, on thy bosom blue, 
To feel that I was flowing too. 

But now, where'er I cast my eye, 

Before my pensive soul 
Spreads the broad reach of days gone by, 
And days yet future roll. 
Adown life's stream 
To float I seem, 
Still quitting old, attaining new. 
O river ! I am flowing too. 

How calm, how still thou sleepest here ! 

And yet behind, before, 
With heavy murmur on my ear, 
Thy angry cataracts roar. 
So yester's sorrow, 
So painful morrow, 
This momentary calm break thro'. 
O river ! I am flowing too. 

Adown thy clear and tranquil breast 

"Wreath/ d foam and bubbles throng. 
Ha ! a strange contrast they attest : 
Thou hast not rested long. 
So this calm face 
With tell-tale trace 
Passions scarce lull'd to sleep imbue. 
O river ! I am flowing too. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 109 

Branches, and foliage, and flowers, 
Faded, and bruis'd, and broken, 
Steal down thy stream, of passionate hours 
At once the spoil and token. 
So marr'd, so vain 
To me the gain 
Which once from feverish hours I drew. 
O river ! I am flowing too. 

Here, heaven with every brightest beam 

Painteth thy glassy floor ; 
There, shiver'd in the eddying stream 
His picture glows no more. 
So now my thought 
His hues hath caught. 
Ah me ! what marring will ensue. 
O river ! 1 am flowing too. 

Here flowery mead, majestic tree, 
Green hillock deck thy strand: 
But soon thy only bank shall be 
Lank reed, and fruitless sand. 
So proud, so fair 
Have been my share. 
Now barren helplessness is due. 
O river ! I am flowing too. 

Here gaze I on the hills that hold 

Thy cradle in their cave ; 
There, round the bright horizon roll'd 

The ocean gleams, thy grave. 



110 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

So here the womb, 

And there the tomb, 
Close, at each end, my straining view. 
O river ! I am flowing too. 

But from that grave thy waves remount, 

And tarrying with the sun, 
Return to fill thy crystal fount, 
Again their course to run. 
So to the skies 
This breath shall rise, 
To run its race of life anew. 
O river ! I am flowing too. 



II. 

" The Cataract. 

Thou clamorous cataract, once again 
I draw in midnight musings nigh ; 
Roar on : unheeded is thy strain, 
Unanswer'd as the maniac's cry. 
For blustering winds their fill have blown, 
The waving woods have ceas'd to groan, 
The curlew's screaming note 

No longer haunts yon peaked crest, 
The unfolded flock is sunk to rest, 
And man far far remote. 

Mute, dark is all, nor sound, nor sight 
Tell God's right hand is busy still, 



THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 1 I 1 

Save that thy cry of quenchless might 
Proclaims him now from hill to hill, 
Yes, herald of the desert, yes, 
Thy voice pervades the wilderness, 
" Repent : thy Lord is near !" 
E'en thus thy solemn accents roll 
Their mystic music on my soul, 
And raise a holv fear. 



And from thy cauldron's deep abyss 

As comes the roar, and thundering' beat, 
And raving lash, and frantic hiss, 
Shake me upon my rocky seat. 
thou importunate Sabbath-bell, 
That wakest the reposing dell, 
Thou callest me to prayer. 

Ah ! now I hear the mental din 
That boils my sinful breast within, 
Thine apt resemblance there. 



Pride, shame, rebellious discontent, 

And wrath that raves, and griefs that pine, 
There hourly struggle for their vent. 

Ah ! could their turmoil end like thine ! 
For yonder thy unprison'd stream 
Steals soft beneath the moonlight beam, 

Far on its sinuous fold, 

Beneath the cotter's boxen hedge, 

Olid drowsy herds, thro' rush and sedge, 

Gentle as sleep is roll'd. 



112 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Oh ! were thus quell'd my bosom's strife ! 

And would that in my listless ears, 
E'en as thy stream, the stream of life 

Had thunder'd, as they flow'd, the years, 
Months, days, hours, moments, spent and flown, 
Had not a rear of menace shewn, 
And, turning round at last, 

Like the deceitful Parthian foe, 
Bent their inevitable bow, 
Most terrible when past. 

Blest stream ! a few short days, and I 

Must bid thy rocks and waves adieu ; 
Yet memory oft shall bring thee nigh, 
And night thy warning voice renew. 
And oh ! in crowds when far away 
With dissipated thoughts I stray, 
Oft may some kindred sound 
Fall sternly on this listless ear, 
And thee and all thy lesson bear, 
And check the giddy round. 

Meanwhile unheeded from the hill 

Shalt thou thy chasm 'd waters hurl, 
Sole visitants to thy distant rill 
The plundering heron, the angling churl 1 
Oh, no ! may some sage pilgrim then 
Be summon'd to thy noisy glen, 
And as he bends to see 

Thy whirl of waves, and cavern dim, 
May then thy thunder preach to him, 
As it hath preach'd to me. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 113 

III. 

The Source. 

Now shaking glens with furious leap, 

Now beneath woods in slumber cast, 
Now threading vales with winding sweep, 
I have chas'd and track'd thee home at last. 
Free from fierce noontide's glare and heat, 
I hail thy cavern's gelid seat, 
Where, cradled as a child, 

In sparry font thy crystal lymph, 
The bath, as of a mountain-nymph, 
Sleeps still and undenl'd. 

Oh, how contrasted with the course 

Thro' which this morn I have trac'd thy wave, 
There, noise and ostentatious force, 
Here, the mute stillness of the grave. 
A baby in its mother's womb 
Art thou, ere yet unkindly doom 
Have cast thee into day ; 
And at the very gate of life 
The passions have commenc'd their strife, 
And mark'd with foam their w T ay. 

No particle of sordid earth, 

No neighbouring torrent's muddy stream, 
Defiles thee in thy stainless birth, 

Nor daylight warms with harlot beam ; 

I 



114 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

But cold and pure, as saintly maid, 
Into the world, of taint afraid, 
Thou issuest from thy cell. 

Ah, soon the fen's polluting drain, 
And city's reeking- filth, shall stain 
Thy now translucent well. 

With dews thro' earth from heaven distill'd, 

Pure and unmixt thou feedest here ; 
And seest thy sparry cistern fill'd, 

Then burstest thro' thy cave's barrier. 
The meadows laugh as on thou pourest, 
A brighter green bedecks the forest, 
The cattle of the mountain 
Exulting to thy bounty flies, 
The shepherds bless in ecstacies 
Thy never-failing fountain. 

Ah, would, O stream, e'en such were T, 
In studious solitude that nurst, 

And flowing o'er with heaven's supply 
To eyes of man my lore could burst, 
Rolling with lofty chime along, 
While to the stream in anxious throng 

Repair the wise and good, 

And age on age behold it wind, 
And fructify fresh fields of mind 

With undecaying flood ! 

Ah! no such emblem, stream, of thee, 
Intrudes upon thy silence now, 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 115 

And lifts the flaring* torch to see 
Thy marble chamber's sparry glow. 
But thou a lesson just hast dealt, 
And I the lesson just have felt, 
And blush'd, as well I might, 

When I my course with thine compare, 
Barren with fruitful, foul with fair, 
And turbulent with bright. 



IT. 

The Swollen Stream. 

It was but a short hour ago, 

And I was gazing on thy stream, 
O Yure, and pierc'd thy depths below, 
Illumin'd by the morning beam, 
And watch'd beneath each rock's dark shade, 
Thy trout in blissful stillness laid, 
And as I turn'd away, 
Thy labouring wave, like infant's clack, 
With innocent prattle call'd me back 
Again to gaze and play. 

But now along thy echoing glen 

I hear thee raving hoarse and loud, 
Like wild-beast chafing in his den, 
And see thee whirling up a cloud 
Off thy vex'd wave, from sheltering rock 
Thy foamy wreath's impetuous shock 



116 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Thy scaly tribes hath sent, 
And on thy bank with net in hand 
The wily poacher takes his stand, 

On lawless plunder bent. 

Yea ! purity alone is safe, 

And meekness strong to guard its own ; 
Boast, vaunt, be turbulent and chafe, 
Thy grace is fled, thy wealth is gone. 
For round thy steps, and round thy gate, 
Intent the ruthless spoilers wait, 
And each ungarded hour 
To force or flattery open yields 
Thy fame, thy fortune, house, and fields — ■ 
E'en so thou warnest, Yure. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 11} 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE FIRST DEATH IX THE FAMILY. 

I have already mentioned the monuments raised 
to the several generations of the Rector's family, 
which in the different styles of different periods 
adorned the walls of the chancel. The latest 
was a long* plain tablet of white marble, ex- 
hibiting a full and sorrowful list of names, 
which were those of the Rector, and his wife 
and children. There was just sufficient room 
left at the bottom to add the name of my friend 
to that catalogue, that counterpart, as I trust 
it is, of their enrolment in the register of eternal 
life. It began with recording the death of a 
girl of fifteen, exciting thus a melancholy in- 
terest even in the stranger. It was ever catch- 
ing my eye, and often, when waiting for parties 
expected to some of the holy offices, I have 



IIS THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 

seated myself upon the bench opposite, and 
gazed in melancholy abstraction upon this com- 
mencement of its legend. I scarcely ever, 1 
thinly went lower in the list. This first name 
was fully sufficient to occupy my thoughts for 
the remainder of the time. In this seemed 
summed up the history of the family. In a girl 
of fifteen, was made the first breach of that line 
which the family had with such joy annually 
presented before the Lord. This gentle crea- 
ture was appointed to be invested with that 
mysterious dread, that awful and shrinking 
feeling with which we always regard our first 
connexion in the spiritual world • and her voice 
which was ever the herald of affection and joy, 
was doomed to speak with them from the tomb 
on death and judgment to come. 

In her fall was heard the first crash of the 
breaking up of this visionary world of flesh, and 
of the bursting in of the reality of the spiritual, 
the type began to give way, and the substance 
to be established. O God ! thou dost not deal 
with thy beloved by obscure and perplexing 
hints, but by open and unerring signs, and there- 
fore didst not begin the work of their removal 
from earth by taking away those whom nature 
seemed to call, but her whose death made the 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. Ill) 

rest consider their life as in jeopardy every 
hour. 

I was not present, alas ! said my friend, one 
day, when he found me in the act of contem- 
plating this monument 3 I was not present at 
the mournful scene,, but arrived on the evening 
of the fatal day, too late to receive her parting 
breath. I will not dwell upon it. It was, in- 
deed, a day of darkness. But the next, I have 
good occasion to recollect, came with somewhat 
of light, and brought healing upon its wings. 
Night, by its refreshment to the body, but still 
more by that spiritual intercourse with God, to 
which in a manner it compels every reflecting 
sufferer, had done much to take out the sting of 
grief, and when we entered the room for prayer, 
it was evident, from the looks of all, that the 
past hours of darkness had been busy ones of 
meditation and self-examination. By that in- 
stinctive and unaccountable communication* 
which ever takes place between minds similarly 
affected, we seemed completely to understand 
one another before a word had been spoken, 
Our mutual remarks, therefore, consisted of 
that studied common-place, that peculiar kind, 
which, while it displays no efforts of the mind, 
shews at the same time that it is working hard 



120 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

and deep beneath the surface. At length, all 
were assembled for prayer, and yet there was 
a pause. All did not seem assembled 5 looks 
were turned towards the door, as if yet another 
was to enter, who could never enter more. It 
was but for a moment. The dream and self- 
delusion, into which the effect of long habit 
had cheated us, broke up, the mournful reality 
flashed upon us, and, with a gentle sigh of re- 
signation, we addressed ourselves to the morn- 
ing prayer. 

Oh, how affecting was now its worship, how 
humble and how fervent the celebration of its 
simple ritual. My father's voice was firm, in- 
deed, as usual, but yet a plaintive softness now 
marked the close of every petition. Amid 
these solemn strains was heard, ever and anon, 
a sob escaping from some breast, which thus 
betrayed the secret of its resignation having 
not yet been quite attained, while the sudden 
check given to it by the utterer, shewed that he 
was resolved to attain. Or a gentle sigh arose, 
suppressed, however, as soon as heaved, upon 
some particular response which brought to 
mind the person no longer among them 5 and 
especially, I remember the breathless pause 
when the prayer came, in which particular 



THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 1<21 

individuals of the family, from various causes, 
were named, and the name of the deceased, 
grown familiar, alas ! through her long suffer- 
ings, upon the list, was omitted for the first 
time. She seemed then, indeed, quite gone 
from among us. I have before me, too, even at 
this moment, the deep-drawn ejaculation and 
unwonted energy given to certain of the re- 
sponses, the full force and sense of which now 
for the first time seemed to flash on the mind of 
the repeater, and to chime in with all the yearn- 
ings of his heart. 

It was my father's custom to read imme- 
diately after prayers a portion of Scripture, upon 
which he always hung some spiritual exhorta- 
tion. I need not add, that in his choice of pas- 
sages he was led by the particular occasions 
which presented themselves. The second week 
of our mourning happened to be Passion-week, 
a most happy coincidence, inasmuch as our at- 
tention was thus, in the most powerful degree 
possible, diverted from our own sufferings to 
those of a crucified Saviour, which were ap- 
pointed to take away all lasting cause of sorrow. 
Several applications now occur to me which 
my father made to our circumstances in the 
course of this week. The Monday, you know, 



123 THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 

is the anniversary of our Lord's visiting his 
temple, and purifying it, by turning out those 
who were carrying on traffick there. On finish- 
ing the narrative, as given by St. Mark, he said: 
* And now, my children, from this temple of the 
family of Israel let us turn to our own, for I 
trust that we have God's temple among us, 
though not built with stones, such as our Lord's 
disciples pointed out to him with fond admira- 
tion, but far more glorious, built up with living 
spirits j yea, and its Lord and Master hath 
entered this temple, entered, too, with the 
scourge in his hand. Oh ! depend upon it that 
we had been giving too much to this transitory 
life ; its unbroken happiness was seducing our 
hearts from the eternal bliss of the next. Oh 
yes ! he found a barter going on here — a barter 
of holiness for indulgence, of soul for body, of 
eternity for an hour. Thus were we profaning 
his courts, and therefore he hath entered them 
with stripes. But shall we dare to be fretful 
under this presence of our glorious visitant r 
Rather let us in tears, and with all humbleness of 
heart, thank him, that he hath thus ejected all 
unmeet intruders, purged it of its pollutions, 
and by the very act shewn what a regard he has 
for it. Let us pray him to re-establish his 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 1*23 

altars, renew the sacrifices of a broken and con- 
trite heart, and make it, by whatever means he 
shall deem best, however painful they may 
seem to us, a fit abode wherein he may delight 
to dwell, and fill the house with the glory of 
the illumination of his Holy Spirit." 

The next day presented us a still stronger 
appeal. Its historical fact was the awful pre- 
diction of our Lord, uttered against Jerusalem 
from Mount Olivet. Behold, my children, said 
my father, on closing the volume, a tremendous 
refutation of an opinion too commonly enter- 
tained, that continued prosperity is a sign of 
God's favour. Xo ! the unchastised son is also 
the unregarded, and the absence of his inter- 
vention for sorrow is also the absence of his 
love, What family ever presented a more gor- 
geous appearance of prosperity than that of 
Israel at this moment. Our Lord looked down 
from Mount Olivet on a magnificent city, 
crowned with its temple, glowing with clusters 
of domes, and files of columns, on crowds of 
merchants and pilgrims pressing in at the gates, 
and heard its ceaseless hum and din, which 
arose from the throng gathered from the four 
corners of the earth to celebrate the Passover, 
the grand festival of their deliverance. Every 



l c 24 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

thing tended to remind the Jew of God's pro- 
mises of wealth and power, and in the intoxica- 
tion of his national festival his heart leaped at 
the review of his strength and numbers, and 
looked at that moment for the Messiah to de- 
scend in the clouds of heaven, and lead him 
forth to the conquest of the earth. He cast an 
eye, perhaps/ at Mount Olivet, as he gazed in 
exultation around, and saw all verdant, calm, 
and sunny there as usual. Yet, at that very 
moment, from that very spot, the curse was 
pronouncing against him. In about forty years 
he celebrated his last Passover, and God bitterly 
derided him by slaying his first-born, and de- 
livering him over to the most awful destruction 
recorded in history. Here then, my children, 
in this family of Israel, is a lesson for every 
family under Heaven. This family had her pro- 
phets sent to her from • time to time, while s^ill 
her term for repentance was unexpired, and 
every family has had similar warnings by angels 
from God, in the shape of some visitation, and a 
long run of high prosperity is indeed ominous. 
Oh ! it is often that dreadful period of calm 
which intervenes between sending his last pro- 
phet, and coming himself in accumulated wrath 
to destroy. It is too often that tremendous 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 125 

interval in which the Almighty retributor gives 
tip the sinner to take his own ways, and this 
the miserable infatuated victim mistakes for 
prosperity. It is too often that awful time, 
when Jesus, as then with the Jews, hath ceased 
to reply and rebuke, and is preparing to root 
out. Therefore, let us rather congratulate our- 
selves upon this interruption to our long-con- 
tinued domestic happiness. God still watches 
over us, he has not exhausted his warnings. 
Let us, then, entertain this prophet, and every 
other which he may think good to send, with 
due reverence, and turn from the allurements 
of life to the Lord our God, lest, by evil-treat- 
ing them, we at length become blind to the last 
messenger to repentance, and crucify afresh the 
Lord of glory. 

It is a common remark, that the advantages 
enjoyed by a numerous family are pretty nearly 
compensated by the greater number of mis- 
fortunes to which, of course, they are liable. 
But, it has seldom been observed how much 
more patiently such misfortunes are borne 5 the 
superior advantages of community in affliction 
are fully equal to those experienced in the par- 
ticipation of enjoyment. More topics of conso- 
lation are presented, in proportion to the num- 



126 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 

ber -, there is a generous rivalry in administering 
to the general consolation, which receives its 
reward in a more prompt and complete mastery 
over individual feeling : and, frequently, one 
rises above the rest, with all the authority of a 
prophet, to whose guidance all submit, and in 
the submission find employment for that re- 
dundant affection, the immediate object of which 
is now no more. 

Of this we had a remarkable instance. The 
very member for whom, of all others., the rest 
were in deep anxiety when the stroke first came, 
lest she should sink under it, threw off, after the 
first burst, all her former weakness, and raised 
her head in firm serenity above the rest of the 
weeping circle, assuming, in singular contrast 
with her slight form and delicate appearance, a 
meek, yet dignified sovereignty, in administering 
to the consolation of the rest. And yet, among 
these were some who, one would have thought, 
should rather have administered to her. But 
so it is in all the visitations of our Blessed Lord • 
sorrow completely alters characters, or rather 
strips off the outward garb, and brings the real 
and interior man to view. The mighty fall, 
the lowly rise, the strength of man is laid pros- 
trate, and the weakness of God stands firm. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 127 

We were now, amid our very tears, reaping 
the plenteous harvest sown in previous obe- 
dience. Our house had not been that of the 
proud pharisee. Christ had not been enter- 
tained among us from ostentation, from the whim 
of the day, from cold compliance with the opi- 
nion of the world : but he had been ministered 
to with prayers and tears, and entire devotion, 
and he was now T among us, as in the house of 
Lazarus, giving us all his sympathy, and assur- 
ing ns that our sister was not dead, but only- 
slept 5 and we experienced that feeling of calm, 
but inexpressible delight, which arises from an 
utter resignation into his hands, the brightness 
of whose past mercies our present affliction 
made more conspicuous than ever. "We saw 
and acknowledged the benefit even of sorrow. 
It is thus that God/s chastisement is distin- 
guished from his vengeance. 

It has often struck me as very strange, that, 
amid all the instruction given to our youth, the 
grandest, and yet commonest occasion in life, 
the hour of sorrow, is left totally unprovided 
for. I should rather say, perhaps, that wrong 
notions are indirectly instilled upon the subject : 
at least, I know that it requires a parent's con- 
stant care to counteract that admiration which 



128 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

the boy, in his classical reading, imbibes of the 
heathen examples of fortitude. Such fortitude 
is assuredly vitally opposed to the true Christian 
spirit. It is the sulky patience which endures 
what it cannot avoid, the rebellious pride of the 
reptile which defies and hisses in the very act 
of being crushed. I thank God that my father 
especially provided against such a perversion 
of principle, and would earnestly warn all fa- 
thers and instructors of youth against its conse- 
quences. I have had occasion to witness them, 
and they are dreadful. 

I retain a lively recollection of the first re- 
newal of our communication with society after 
this affliction. The last part of our seclusion 
coincided, as I have mentioned, with Passion- 
week. By the time of its conclusion, its for- 
mer serenity had again begun to diffuse itself 
over the family 3 and when we met on Easter- 
day, at the customary hour of morning prayer, 
all bore the evident impress of the joyful notions 
which the occasion of the day so powerfully 
inspires. We embraced each other, on rising 
from our knees, with a subdued, yet deep-felt 
gladness 3 and shortly after we prepared to quit 
the house of mourning for the first time, and 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 129 

re-appear among our earthly friends at the cus- 
tomary rites of public worship. 

It seemed, indeed, like a coming forth from 
the tomb. We had been long pent up where 
every thing was associated with death, in the 
missing of the one who was now no more. 
The last week had been dark and stormy, the 
clay cheerless, and the silence of the night had 
been all along interrupted by the groaning of 
the trees in the wind. The narrow circuit of 
our morning walk daily presented the miserable 
spectacle of the ground strewn with the wrecks 
of the nests of the rooks, and here and there 
the callow young were lying, which had been 
shaken out by the violence of the tempest, and 
even occasionally a parent bird, which had been 
lashed to death, in the act of tending its endan- 
gered young, by the confliction of the tossing 
boughs. 

But this morning, overflowing with such bliss- 
ful associations, this, our Lord's own morning, 
came forth with the winds quite hushed, and 
the sky unclouded. The views were clear and 
bright, and seemed as if intended to unfold the 
world again, while the eye readily pierced up 
the long defiles of the distant glens., the outlets 
of our vale, and caught the falls of water at 

K 



130 THE RECTORY OF VALEIIEAD. 

their head, sparkling in the sun ; and the distant 
barrier of mountains, which typified to us the 
outward world, seemed to woo us into it again 
by the extraordinary beauty they put on, in all 
the variety of tint, and strength of light and 
shade. Nature, too, in sympathy, as it were, 
with our feelings, had just burst forth from the 
tomb ; at the beginning of our seclusion, not a 
flower, excepting the melancholy snowdrop, had 
come forth. But now the uplands and the 
meadows vied with each other in the plenty 
and beauty of their peculiar blossoms. On our 
way to church, we continually encountered the 
affectionate salutations of our neighbours 5 the 
returning world opened more and more upon 
us $ and, arrived within the sacred walls, we 
felt once more gathered into the great family 
of mankind, and called to the resumption of 
those active duties which had been interrupted 
by our visitation, and ought now no longer to 
be deferred. 

I. 
WHAT IS AFFLICTION? 

What is Affliction ? — Speak, O man, 

From sorrow's bruising' rod, 
That liftest up thy head to scan 

The mazy paths of God I 



THE RECTORY OF VALEEIEAD. 131 

It is the battering* storm, which long 
Vex'd Esdraelon's vale. 

Hark ! how the grateful reapers* song- 
Floats joyous on the gale. 

It is the snow, with chilling flake 

On Lebanon embost. 
See the bright gems of verdure break, 

And nurse his bleating host. 

It is the wintry wind, which smites 

The bud of Sharon's rose, 
With richer fragrance he invites, 

With deeper crimson glows. 

It is the pruning knife, that shears 

Engaddi's rambling vine : 
Half-bow'd his clustering load he bears, 

And swells with purple wine. 

O, great Vine- dresser ! teach my heart 

Thy searching knife to bear ; 
With every branch of pride to part, 

And bless my pruner's care. 

Yea ! quell mine overgrown array, 

And, if it be thy will, 
Lop fortune, friends, and fame away, 

For thou art with me still. 



132 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 
II. 

THE OMEN. 

I journey'd on, in gloomy thought, 

Mine ears still ringing with adieu : 
Then paus'd on the last hill that brought 

My dear deserted home to view. 
Across the vale, with towery span 
Of brilliant arch, the rainbow ran, 
And plung'd upon the earth, 
Just where my well-directed eye, 
'Mid the deep lustre, sought to spy 
That spot of love and mirth. 

Eath'd as it lay amid the glow 

And radiance of that liquid woof, 
Heaven seem'd along his glorious bow 

To pour his treasures on our roof. 
I hail'd the sight, the omen took, 
And smil'd, and gave the last fond look, 

And hope bright days was telling. 
Months roll'd along — I came again, 
And found the nattering omen vain : 
It now was sorrow's dwelling. 

But time soon read that omen right, 

Fast on our heads woe's rain was driven : 

But shortly rose a cheering light, 

And ting'd it with the hues of heaven. 

And resignation's holy balm, 

And, potent every throb to calm, 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 133 

Hope, Patience, Fortitude, 
Descended on our bruised head ; 
Aloft our thankful hands we spread, 

And own'd the Lord was good. 



III. 
THE LAST PROPHET. 

Now, hear once more, insensate ear, 
Thou dull of hearing, hear again : 

And thou, forgetful bosom, bear 

What thou so oft has borne in vain. 

My former warnings slighted all, 

Now hear my last, my loudest call. 

Look back upon thy life, survey, 

And weep the while, its tortuous line : 

A wilder'd labyrinth, whose way 
Traverses every course but mine. 

Doth not the painful sight appal 1 

Now hear my last, my loudest call. 

Oft have I call'd. O think, tho' loth, 

I have call'd in gladness, call'd in sorrow, 

I have call'd 'mid study, call'd 'mid sloth, 
I have call'd to-day, and call'd to-morrow : 

Yet hast thou slighted me in all: 

Now hear my last, my loudest call. 



134 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Yes ! for a moment thou would'st strive, 
And I with all my blessings sped ; 

But, when I stretch'd mine arms to give, 
Fickle apostate ! thou had'st fled. 

Again thou rosest but to fall : 

Now hear my last, my loudest call. 

missing long, but yet not lost, 
O dying oft, but yet not dead, 

Not always can my voice accost, 
Nor can my tongue for ever plead. 

1 now address thee once for all, 
It is my last, my loudest call. 

Oh ! ere my voice be weary, hear J 

Oh ! while my wrath still slumbers, wake ! 

Once more my heavenly gifts I bear, 
Again invite thee to partake. 

Quit, idler, quit thy battening stall, 

It is my last, my loudest call, 



IV. 
"I DIE DAILY." 

When on my pillow'd couch I lay, 
Each night, this weary head of mine, 

And think upon the by-gone day, 

Its tangled thread of thought untwine, 

I seem another life to leave, 

And born at morn to die at eve. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 335 

Each day, O Father, is a life, 

Each the great whole's epitome, 
With passion stirr'd, with action rife, 

Prank'd with capricious pain and glee. 
Hours fly for years, nor growing age 
Lacks here its monitory stage. 

Morn from thy hand's renewing power 

Brings me as from the womb again, 
Fresh as the babe in natal hour, 

Unsoil'd as yet with worldly stain. 
My heart is calm, my breast is clear, 
And lively to thy voice, my ear. 

Then Xoon, like manhood bears along, 

Ah ! far from innocence and home, 
To push amid the worldly throng, 

Olid scenes of bustling guilt to roam, 
And toil and care, and guile and sin, 
O'erpower thy voice with deafening din. 

Then Eve, meet type of mellowing age, 
Olid dying sounds, and growing calm, 

Calls me to home, and musings sage. 
Cool as her dews, thy spirit's balm 

Pours on my fever' d heart, and full, 

Thy voice on ears no longer dull. 

Then Xight, like death, as in the grave, 
Lays down my aching head once more ; 

Blessing the bounteous hand which gave, 
Praying the taker to restore, 



136 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

I close upon the world my sight, 
And sink amid surrounding night. 

Great Giver of this mortal breath, 

Which thou hast rous s d again to sing, 

Oh, thro' a daily life and death, 
Conduct me still, Almighty King ! 

Death to some sin my shame of yore, 

Life to some grace unfelt before. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 137 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE FAMILY CODE. 

I was walking with my friend one day, and we 
had seated ourselves upon a turfy swell to enjoy 
the view. On rising up, we found that we had 
been trampling down a colony of ants, whose 
train was hurrying to and fro in apparent dis- 
may at their calamity. My friend viewed silent- 
ly, for some moments, the grievous havock 
which we had made in their little community, 
and then exclaimed. How thankfully ought we 
to feel the blessing of our station among God's 
creatures ! See how hourly we trample beneath 
our feet, in ignorance or recklessness, millions of 
our inferior fellow-creatures. Perhaps every 
motion of ours is fatal to some one or other of 
them, and the lower world looks up in horror 
as we pass. But we can look up, and see no 



138 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

tramplers on our heads. Our superiors are good 
and guardian angels, whose every motion is di- 
rected to our preservation and happiness by an 
all-present Saviour. 

Notwithstanding the strong association which 
I had perceived in my friend's mind between 
things natural and spiritual, I could not help 
wondering at this rapid transition. I suppose 
a smile upon my countenance betrayed me, for 
smiling, as in return, with a look of extreme 
good nature, he said : I know that you are 
amused with the singularity of my observation, 
and verily believe have put me down for an 
enthusiast of no common stamp. Nevertheless, 
if I am singular now, I was not formerly -, for 
this habit of thought I derived, with all the rest 
of my family, from my father, and not by passive 
inheritance, but by direct instruction. It was 
what he was anxious above all things to instil, 
making it the main support of the moral code 
which regulated the constitution of our house- 
hold. Every household requires, for its very 
existence, some moral code, and I fear that the 
spirit of the codes which most generally pre- 
vail savours of little more than the adjustment 
of the dispositions and interests of the members. 
Such grow indeed with their growth, but it is 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 139 

by continually taking in the loose and vague 
principles of the world with which the members 
daily enlarge their commerce, until at last they 
assimilate their system in every feature to its 
corrupt code, and the children are but too truly 
the children of this world. In other families, 
this code may be placed on a strictly moral 
basis, but unless this also rest on one wider and 
firmer still, it will fail in the day of trial to sup- 
port the weight imposed upon it. No! the 
father must be father not only of their bodies, 
not only of their minds, but of their spirits too. 
His moral code must be an essential part of the 
religion of his household, must be the body of 
which this is the soul, a daily practical com- 
ment on the spiritual exercise of daily prayer, 
and by inculcating motives superior to the pal- 
triness of worldly interests, produce that lofti- 
ness of thought, and firmness of moral nerve, 
which alone can carry the Christian victorious 
to the conclusion of his career. Such was my 
father's system. He would allow no one prin- 
ciple of those which were daily rising up among 
us on our mutual dealings to remain in the 
frail and corrupt nature which produced it, 
amiable though that nature may oftentimes 
appear. He was never satisfied till he had 



140 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

completely founded it anew, as on a second 
nature, on the spirit of the gospel. Wherever 
it was possible, he would anticipate the results 
of nature itself by inweaving into our minds 
such habits of thought and feeling, that our 
mutual dealings, as by collision, struck out at 
once the principles, which were their natural 
result, in the exact mould of the gospel, and, 
in proportion to our growth, these of course 
came forth more and more perfect 5 so that 
our code, far from assuming more and more the 
character of the world, as it opened upon us, 
receded further and further from it, and grew 
more accordant with the spirit of the world to 
come. To such an end, it was necessary on 
every occasion to refer us to some precept or 
doctrine, or fact of the gospel, so that by de- 
grees we saw and imbibed its whole practical 
scope. Our affection grew into that unshaken 
love, which is due to that love with which Christ 
hath loved us, our good nature into that lively 
charity, which thinks well and acts well, from 
a continual sense of the unbounded mercies 
which we have received, and of which we are 
stewards, in order to impart to others, our dif- 
fidence into that meekness which becomes a 
fellow-sinner, our high spirits into that calm 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 141 

but deep joy which becomes the redeemed, the 
naturally obstinate were improved into exam- 
ples of patience,, the warm and sanguine refined 
into holders of a lively and animated faith, and 
the phlegmatic and wary into the sober, watch- 
ful, and cautious against offence. 

Framed as it thus was, our code had no iso- 
lated point. A spirit pervaded the whole, which 
brought all into harmony, gave all an unity of 
purpose. Thus was left no room for doubt 5 
each principle was supported above and below, 
on this side and on that, by all the rest ; and 
when one motive was excited, it was immediately 
surrounded by a host of others, which bore with 
concentrated force upon the object. With what 
an overwhelming weight was impressed that 
duty so continually demanded in a family, the 
mutual forgiveness of faults. There w r as the 
love of our Lord, there was his example, there 
was his especial precept, there was his general 
command to do as we would be done by, and 
not to judge that we may not be judged ; there 
was the duty of mastering every passion in 
order to the victory over the world, and the 
offender (besides being of the same natural 
father) was a fellow in sin, a fellow in redemp- 
tion, a brother in Christ. It is true, that each of 



142 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

these motives was not distinctly seen 3 neverthe- 
less they past through our bosom as really as 
each syllable of a word must be taken into the 
eye, though, through habit, we feel unconscious 
of the act. Never was a code better guarded 
from violation. We had not been our own le- 
gislators, nor modelled it after our own caprice 
and passion, which would have given us the 
right to alter it accordingly. It was God's own 
will and law, unalterable by will of man. 

Of course, no act under such a system could 
be trifling ; it came under the influence of one 
and the same spirit with the most dignified : 
none could be indifferent, for it obtained point 
and direction from its numerous associations 
with all that was important 5 and our quick - 
sightedness thus formed, could discern a train 
of consequences traversing the circle of our 
home, growing stronger as it proceeded, and 
ending in some awakening result. Our acts of 
childhood, which, if any, belong to this class of 
trifling or indifferent, we were enabled to dis- 
cern, as we grew up, not to have been so 3 we 
felt every moment their important results. Thus 
we were guarded against an insidious and sure 
cause of laxity of principle, and each act, as 
done by us, was viewed as uttered in the church 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD* 143 

of Christ, affecting some member of the body 
of Christ, performed by a servant of Christ, and 
connected by an uninterrupted series with that 
eternity which had been promised by Christ. 
Oh ! how my dear father deprecated the usage 
of such a term as an indifferent action ! He 
banished it with indignation from our vocabu- 
lary. Would Heaven that it were banished from 
every other ! Its admission is the cause of al- 
most all the crimes and misfortunes of society, 
and the philosopher (shame to him !) who has 
employed it, has shewn thus his ignorance both 
of human nature, and of the spirit of the gospel, 
and has been a corrupter rather than teacher of 
morals. 

My friend here paused. We had been stand- 
ing hitherto, in consequence of the mischief 
which our sitting had done to the poor ants. 
We now altered our situation to another spot, 
where, after seating ourselves, he continued to 
regard with a musing eye the fine horizon 
spread out before us. In a few moments he 
resumed : 

Observe yonder blue ridge. It requires, as 
seems to me, some experience and attention to 
distinguish it from the sky, against which it 
appears like a layer of clouds. Even so the 



144 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

blunted moral vision forms its class of indif- 
ferent actions, and the blot at which he stops, as 
the termination of mental vision, is to the truly 
Christian moralist full of lively circumstance. 

You may, however, object that with all the 
quickness of vision to which we may have been 
thus habituated, still my father must have left 
many cases unprovided for, since the acutest 
discernment, however highly disciplined, must, 
in our imperfect nature, be often baffled in de- 
ciding amid conflicting circumstances to which 
class, good or bad, to refer an action. He did 
not deny this, yet still left us amply provided. 
Whenever, he said, a question appears thus 
nicely balanced, (ifc can be of course but in ap- 
pearance, for no action is intrinsically neutral,) 
depend upon it that the equality is made by 
your own interest and feelings being unwitting- 
ly thrown into the scale. Take, therefore, this 
rule, delivered by an excellent father of our 
church : u Always, in a case of doubt, choose 
the side which you find least agreeable." Thus 
you are certain of choosing the right, and at the 
same time gain a victory over your own corrupt 
inclinations. There can be no danger from in- 
different actions thus treated, on the contrary, 
they give us additional moral strength. 



THE RECTORY OF YALEHEAD. 145 

Our family code then was simple, clear, un- 
alterable. He that ran might read, and it pos- 
sessed an authority, beyond all, awful and com- 
pulsory. The person, therefore, who offended, 
offended indeed grievously, and deep was the 
penitence which ensued. The offender was left 
without any excuse of the action being trifling 
or indifferent, he had none around him who 
would sympathize with him, and support him, 
with a view to establish a principle which might 
excuse some deed of their own, either past or 
in contemplation. As soon as ever the first 
burst of passion was over, he found himself 
alone 3 he had leisure to regain his usual quick- 
ness of moral sight. He then saw the conse- 
quences of what he had done, both as affecting 
himself and others. He had violated the peace 
and sanctity of Christ's household, he had in- 
flicted a stain upon his own conscience, he had 
set a stumbling-block in the way of those who 
were most near and dear to him. He felt that 
he had set himself apart, as by a leprosy, from 
the rest 3 shut himself out from his father's spi- 
ritual household. He was an exile, and a cast- 
away. But no sooner was the sincerity of these 
feelings discerned than the whole family rose to 
meet him with comfort and encouragement, and 

L 



146 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

give him the kiss of peace and reconciliation, 
and after his contrite acknowledgment had 
been put up at the next time of family prayer, 
the past was clean forgotten, the broken circle 
recovered its integrity a and there was joy, as 
among the angels of Heaven. 

You will now, I think, (continued he,) re- 
suming his smile, no longer be surprised at my 
rapid transition from the vilest things below to 
the highest above. The aim and tendency of 
our code w T as to associate earthly things with 
heavenly, to use the former as notices to the 
consideration of the latter, and to measure the 
holiness of every thought and deed by the num- 
ber of pure and heavenly associations which it 
brought together. I love to seek these com- 
binations. They take me out of the narrow and 
monotonous range of outward sense, of earthly 
feelings, and the most copious source of my 
bliss below is clue, under the gospel, to the 
spirit, and precepts of our family code. 

I have subjoined two short pieces in verse, 
which my friend gave me to illustrate what he 
had been saying, as specimens of the manner 
in which the most trifling circumstances were 
turned to account in this family, and made the 
vehicle of all that can be awful or interesting. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAJ). 147 
I. 

THE CAPTIVE LET LOOSE. 

Poor trembling creature, why this haste 1 
Thine attitude, half prayer, half threat ; 

Thine eyes in fearful glances cast, 
As if some monster thou hadst met. 

A moment I must hold my prize, 

For e'en in thee some lesson lies. 

We are no longer what we were ; 

The stamp divine, which all thy race 
Was taught to love and to revere, 

Is gone : sin glareth in its place. 
How well the hideous mark ye know, 
And fly in loathing fright, as now. 

Oh ! I am humbled — fellow-man 

May shun, nor give a moment's smart j 

Nay, I can smile beneath his ban, 

But thou dost stir both head and heart : 

Xo whim, no worthless pride sways thee, 

Instinctive horror bids thee flee. 

Thy race was happy once, no foe 

In all creation's range it knew ; 
Man sinn'd, and at one fatal blow 

The delegated world o'erthrew. 
Those pangs his presence now confess, 
Stern miner of thy happiness. 



148 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Thro' him thy race an outlaw liveth, 
Perils thy very birth surround ; 

Thro' him thy throbbing heart misgiveth, 
At every sight, at every sound : 

The day is full of cares and fright, 

And big with terrors is the night. 

I would not hurt thee, would not add 
A throb to that large sum of pain, 

Which thou for my default hast had. 
Oh ! it would deeper die the stain 

Which lays my vanity so low. 

Go, then : in safety, trembler, go. 



II. 
THE MONITOR. 

My faithful comrade ! oft in thee, 
When pride is still and passion cold, 

A faithful monitor 1 see, 
Example for myself behold, 

And feel the chiding blushes flame. 

That by my dog am put to shame. 

I mark how thou each morn dost run, 
Hastening, with joyous bark, to greet 

Thy Master on another sun, 

And lick in fond salute my feet ; 

While I of him that all supplies, 

My Master, reckless, thankless rise. 



THE RECTOIIY OF VALEHEAD. 149 

How, when thou could'st not understand 
My moody whim, I have struck thee sore, 

And thou hast kiss'd the ruthless hand, 
As gay, as grateful as before. 

While, tho' he justly smite, I grow 

But more rebellious from the blow. 

How thou would 'st follow, and entreat 
To take thee with me ; and where'er 

I led, fatigue itself was sweet, 

And peril scorn'd, so I were there. 

While I of him ne'er pray'd to guide, 

From all his paths have turn'd aside. 

How from thy foot when I hare drawn 
The thorn which wrought thy little woe, 

Thou would'st in answer kiss and fawn, 
Could'st ne'er sufficient thanks bestow. 

Death's sting he drew for me, and still 

No thanks ascend, I spurn his will. 

How when in wood or grassy nook, 

Wearied, a resting place I have found, 

Thou would'st with jealous bark and look 
Defend the consecrated ground ; 

While I have seen, unmov'd, unpain'd, 

His bounds transgress'd, his courts profan'd. 



150 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



CHAPTER X. 

THE MOTHER. 

A custom prevailed at Valehead, and throughout 
its neighbourhood, which ever appeared to me 
very beautiful and affecting. If, in the dusk of 
Easter Eve, your way happened to lie through 
the churchyard, you would perceive figures, 
each equipped with a lantern and a basket, flit- 
ting from spot to spot through the gloom. If 
a stranger, you would most probably take them 
for the wives of the fishermen, procuring worms, 
and so pass on without further consideration. 
But the morning would reveal to you a very 
different employment. You would see every 
grave, whose tenant had one unforgetful heart 
still left above ground, profusely decked with 
the choicest flowers of this most interesting of 
seasons. The whole churchyard puts a holiday 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 151 

smile over its mouldering surface, and every 
chaplet-strewn mound seems to invite you to 
admiration, and in a note of triumph to cry out 
for its owner, (i We are not nothing. We still 
exist, and shall rise again, even as our Lord 
upon this day rose again." 

On the Easter day first ensuing after my 
friend's arrival in the country, I observed a 
grave thus dressed, which, ever since I had 
known the place, had hitherto lain in melan- 
choly neglect, most piteously contrasted with its 
gaily drest neighbours. Upon enquiry, I learned 
that the grave contained the mother of a sailor, 
who, after an absence of many years, had but 
a few days ago returned to the place of his birth. 
I pointed it out to my friend, who, after regard- 
ing it for some time with a musing look, and 
then throwing a hasty glance at the chancel 
where the family vault lay. took my arm, and, 
according to custom, accompanied me for the 
length of two or three fields on my way home- 
ward. I confess that I had a design in thus 
directing his attention. Hitherto, in his con- 
versations with me, he had dwelled almost ex- 
clusively upon the part which his father assumed 
in the government of his household. I was 
curious to elicit from him something respecting 



152 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 

the part assigned to the mother, and had now, 
methought, laid a successful train 5 nor was I 
disappointed. 

He began, however, as usual, with remarks 
upon the service of the day. I have always 
been struck, he said, alluding* to the gospel for 
the day, with the part which women bear in 
the history of our Lord's sojourn upon earth. 
We find a faithful little troop of them clinging 
round him to the last, even when men had lost 
all courage, and forsaken him. They attend at 
his cross, they wait upon his sepulchre, and they 
are accordingly honoured with being made the 
first witnesses of the resurrection. It seems 
as if all had been designed to enforce the sense 
of the completeness of our restoration, since 
woman, who first sinned and incurred death, was 
thus first presented with the visible, palpable 
pledge of everlasting life 3 and it is observable 
that w T herever the gospel is maintained in its 
purity, there woman is in full enjoyment of all 
her native rights and dignity. Hence it is, that 
the Christian alone, at least in my view, pos- 
sesses a home,"* and our Saviour, in the course 

* Is not this remark confirmed by the fact, that the 
least religious people in Europe is also the least domestic ? 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 153 

of effecting our eternal happiness, has established 
for us the greatest of earthly blessings. For 
without a mother maintained in due honour, 
upheld in all her dignity, invested with her 
proper sway, home cannot exist. Tending to 
the same point is another remarkable fact, 
which, so far from being an accidental feature 
of our Lord's history, has always appeared to 
me essential and designed. We hear nothing 
of his reputed father after his childhood, while 
his mother is prominently put forward, and, even 
after his ascension to heaven, we are carefully 
told that his infant church assembled in her 
house. The Father's authority, indeed, needed 
no additional ratification • but what a sanction, 
what a sanctity, is thus imposed upon the 
mother's 5 and how more highly still should we 
think of it, when we feel that it is very much 
through his conversation with his mother and 
her companions, that our Lord's character comes 
invested to us with that human tenderness 
which gives us confidence, notwithstanding his 
divine unutterable majesty, to call upon him as 
our Mediator with an assurance of his sympathy. 
This sanction seems still more marked, on com- 
paring our Lord's ministry with that of Moses : 
that of the latter is all stern, masculine injunc- 



154 THE RECTORY OF VALEIIEAD. 

tion, unbroken by a trait of female softness, all 
cold, majestic publicity. The contrast, indeed, 
was fitting between a covenant of grace and a 
covenant of penalty, between a covenant which 
carried on the promise of the seed of the wo- 
man, and the covenant which gave that seed. 

In this blessed covenant, then, which we en- 
joy, the mother has been restored to all her legi- 
timate sovereignty 3 and great and incalculable 
is her influence. Like some fine concentrated 
perfume, it penetrates with potent, but invisible, 
agency, every nook of home, pervading where 
the coarser authority of the father could never 
reach : it begins with the first breath we draw, 
with the first light we see. On her were fixed 
our first affections, from her we received the 
first food, on her lap spoke the first words, 
thought the first thought, read the first letter, 
and, with our hands clasped in hers, offered our 
first prayer. In all that we ever after think or 
know, we are immediately referred to her who 
furnished us with their elements. Under her 
rule it was that we enjoyed what now appears 
to have been the only period of unalloyed hap- 
piness, and from underneath her warm and 
sheltering wing were taken to the first taste of 
anxiety and toil, and transferred to the compa- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 155 

ratively stern controul of the father, or still 
sterner discipline of the school. Nor ceases 
even her direct influence then ; it revives at in- 
tervals in all its original freshness and strength 
of hold 3 often, after the lapse of many maturing 
years, when sickness makes us children again, 
in her we seek a refuge, once more experience 
her unwearied attention 5 and pain is deprived 
of half its sting by the renewal of that nursing 
care to which, as bliss for ever gone by, our 
memory has so often and so fondly reverted. 
Having received this power in common from 
nature, my mother eagerly laid hold of the 
blessed privilege and office of good which the 
gospel has assigned. God had originally given 
to her, she considered, dominion over the child's 
heart, and now, through the gospel, has given 
to her dominion over every wild passion, every 
beast of the field, as it were, throughout its re- 
gions • there she must clear the wilderness, 
there erect the temple of the living God. She 
reflected that if the first mother was the author 
of sin, the Christian mother has been gloriously 
endowed with ample means of remedy, and that 
remedy, for her own salvation no less than of 
her child, she is in duty bound to apply. In 
her, the gospel should find one of its most effi- 



156 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

cient preachers. 3 one endued with that gift of 
tongue, whose every accent reaches the child's 
inmost bosom 5 one who not only addresses 
the affections, but is the very first to call them 
into existence $ who has to speak to no seared 
conscience and blunted feelings, but to the flex- 
ible freshness of the yet soft and innocent 
heart. She is the first object of the child's love, 
esteem, reverence, obedience, and occupies for 
a certain time the whole of that head and heart, 
which is soon to be devoted to God's service : 
him she represents for a season j and let her 
take heed lest she usurp his place, and continue 
her child's affections on earthly objects, after his 
mind shall have become capable of appreciating 
heavenly. Alas ! how many a fond indulgent 
mother has wept the consequences of such ido- 
latry, and discovered, when too late, that she 
has been sitting, as God, in God's temple. She 
must render unto God the things that are God's, 
and labour incessantly in forming the infant 
mind, so that the love, the reverence, the obe- 
dience, which she now inspires for herself, shall 
be but the rude elements of the love, the reve- 
rence, the obedience, which he shall hereafter 
pay to the Almighty Father. Oh, how beautifully 
holy is a mother, thus employed, how blessed 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 15? 

her house ! Like Mary's, it contains the infant 
church of Christ ; and, Oh ! like Mary, let her 
not hesitate to stand at his cross, and, crucify- 
ing all over-fond affection, firmly discipline her 
child, in due season, to crucify his also. 

Such a mother was mine ; and, if you have 
heard from me on this subject less than you 
expected, it is because the notions are so in- 
woven into every portion of my mind, that I feel 
a difficulty in detaching them, and clothing them 
in words : where we think or feel most, there 
we always speak least. 

Her place can never be supplied : none but 
she can obtain that intimacy with our hearts -, 
in her loss, the father feels at once a link broken 
between him and his children ; she forms the 
softening medium between his masculine con- 
troul, and their tender years. The father may 
instruct, but the mother must instil: the father 
may command our reason, but the mother com- 
pels our instinct 5 the father may finish, but the 
mother must begin. In a word, were I to draw 
a general distinction, without particular atten- 
tion to accuracy, I should say, that the empire 
of the father was over the head, of the mother 
over the heart. 

To our mother was always addressed the first 



158 THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 

letter after our departure from home j to her,, 
imparted the account of any novelties which 
had excited our admiration • to her, the first ti- 
dings of any success j to her, who was the first 
planter of the bosom, we offered its first-fruits. 
The thought of her, during our absence, brought 
us comfort, and her sweet and quiet image, con- 
jured up by our longing imagination, gave us 
the prominent idea of home, round which all 
the rest clustered. We could bring, by force of 
fancy, into our ears her gentle voice leading 
the responses at family prayers, and dwelling 
with all the yearning of affectionate entreaty 
on the Amen, which closed the prayer put up 
for the welfare of the young absentees. The 
foreground of the picture of the anticipated joy 
of oar return always presented her coming forth 
with our sisters to meet us. Arriving from a 
bustling noisy world, what a delightful contrast 
of calm we then experienced. Supposing the 
degree of piety the same, the woman always 
exhibits it in a more engaging view than the 
man. It seems in her more innate and less 
earthly ; some of the sweetest of the gospel 
graces are hers almost by inheritance. Angelic 
meekness, faithful affection, enduring patience, 
uncomplaining resignation, having free play by 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 159 

her retirement from the passion-stirring and 
tumultuous scenes of life, grow up in her to 
most enviable ripeness. In the moment, there- 
fore,, in which we met this dear little procession, 
how perfect seemed the calm : nor was this a 
little augmented by a sense of deficiency and 
corresponding feeling of humility, which soon 
afterwards arose in our bosoms. When we 
looked upon, and conversed with, our sisters, 
who had all along enjoyed the peculiar care of 
our mother, from which ourselves had been so 
early torn away, and saw fully expanded in them, 
in all sweetness and beauty, what she had once 
implanted also in us, but a boisterous world 
had subsequently stunted in growth, we were 
warned of the distance at which we stood from 
the standard of Christian excellence. They 
were monuments to us of what we ourselves 
had once been, and told us that we had need 
become as little children again, before we could 
attain that standard. We learned from them 
how much of the world still remained to be 
subdued, how very much was required to be 
achieved before we could bring each irregular 
and impatient feeling into due submission to 
the gospel of peace. 



160 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

We had now arrived at the entrance of a 
wood, through which a secluded path ran to 
the garden-gate at the back of the Manor-house. 
We here parted. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 16l 



CHAPTER XI. 

THE DISCIPLINE OF THE FAMILY. 

The discipline of the church of Christ, as dis- 
played in its censures and excommunication, 
must have been very effective while it was flou- 
rishing in its primitive visible unity and purity. 
She was not then divided into separate indepen- 
dent bodies, holding no communication with each 
other, which might enable an offender when ex- 
pelled from one to attach himself to another, 
and thus maintain, in defiance of his condem- 
ners, an outward union with Christ. He might 
as well have endeavoured to escape the penal- 
ties of rebellion against the head of the Roman 
empire by removing from one province to an- 
other. So spotless, too, was her innocence, so 
bright her holiness, that none dared question 
for a moment the justice of her decisions 5 and 

M 



16 c 2 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

her sentence, however rigorous it might be, was 
deemed to be ratified in heaven ; to be cut off 
from her was effectually to be cut off from Christ. 
Thus, both her blessings and her censures were 
an outward expression, an earthly type, by which 
men were warned of what judgment was pro- 
ceeding in heaven upon their conduct of life, 
and her slowness of forgiveness, and the fiery 
probation to which she submitted the penitent, 
were w T ell calculated to dispel those hurtful no- 
tions which men now so generally entertain of 
the ease and speed of the process of forgiveness 
of sins. They could not then judge of that pro- 
cess from the quick pliability of their internal 
feelings, and the suddenness with which they can 
pass from like to dislike, from joy to sorrow $ 
they could not mistake transitory alteration of 
purpose for real change of heart, The church 
did not take them back so suddenly as that they 
should not be relieved from this delusion ; and 
still less could they think all accomplished as 
soon as the change had begun : she demanded 
restoration and satisfaction to the utmost which 
could be given, before she would re-admit the 
offender to his forfeited privileges. Every day 
some example of this kind was passing before 
the eyes of men, and they saw, they learned, 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 163 

and they trembled. Lost, however, as this glo- 
rious discipline is in the universal church by the 
dissolution of its visible unity, lost in every par- 
ticular church from corruption, from the inter- 
ference of the temporal power, and various other 
causes, it still survives in all its integrity in 
that department of Christ's body which is oc- 
cupied by a family. There is unity, there is 
holiness, there no power of the world can inter- 
fere. Thence none has liberty to withdraw 
himself to another portion of Christ's body: 
he cannot therefore laugh to scorn her penalties • 
all that she thinks fit to impose he must un- 
dergo. Her uncompromising rigour can neither 
be bought off by money, soothed by influence, 
repelled by power, nor disarmed by the magis- 
trate 3 her censures come immediately upon the 
offender's head, in the face of the whole assem- 
bled church, with a voice which can be heard 
by every son, and her excommunication exists in 
all its primitive vigour and reality. 

The lowest species of this latter punishment 
is sufficiently dreadful to a feeling heart • so 
bitter a draught, even to boisterous boyhood, 
as never to be willingly brought within the reach 
of possibility again to the person who has once 
tasted of it. The exclusion from the usual 



164 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

assembling of prayer which was a form of it 
employed (though very seldom) by my father, 
conveyed a commination which indeed was effec- 
tual, and sharper than a two-edged sword, pe- 
netrating to the joints and marrow, and search- 
ing the thoughts and purposes of the heart. 
The offender found himself in a state of spiritual 
separation from the dearest and purest objects 
of his affections below, from those on whom all 
the comforts of his existence depended 5 and 
not only in the face of man, but also before God ; 
not only in reference to this world, but with 
regard to the world to come 5 he felt himself cut 
off by the very roots from earth, but, alas ! not 
transplanted into heaven. He could look for no 
society to receive him, except that of the evil 
spirits who had seduced him from his allegiance 
to his earthly and to his heavenly Father. To 
add to the bitterness of his heart, he could over- 
hear the voice of praise and thanksgiving which 
proceeded from the temple, whence he, as pro- 
fane, was excluded 3 he could hear the blessing 
pronounced on all present, and which fell not 
upon himself 5 he could catch the sound of their 
rising at the conclusion, and then how painful 
was the reflection on the satisfaction which he 
used to enjoy at that moment, when he had 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 165 

once again appeared before his God in company 
with the beloved of his heart. 

Though certain to forgive on sincere repen- 
tance, and sure to forget as clean as he forgave 
freely, my father was slow to express his for- 
giveness upon these occasions. He would by 
no means take the penitent back again in the 
same moment that his change of heart became 
visible. He rather left him under the influence 
of such powerful and healing feelings as accom- 
pany the moment, for a time sufficient to allow 
him to lay open with their unsparing sword the 
darkest recesses of his own heart, and thus to 
gain that knowledge of his weakness which 
henceforward might render him strong. The 
penitent is too often quite as ready to forget his 
offence as his pardoner can be, and thus to lose 
the better half of the fruits of repentance : against 
this, therefore, my father's delay effectually pro- 
vided. At the same time, to impress us with a 
due sensibility to the difficulty of pardon from 
heaven, he made the restoration of the penitent 
no simple and speedy process. He demanded 
the most explicit acknowledgment, the most 
unfeigned submission, before the face of the 
church of home, before he allowed the pardoned 
rebel to take his station in the circle of worship- 



166 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

pers, and join in the general confession. Nor 
would he allow the penitence of the offender, 
however unequivocally expressed, to be, of it- 
self, available to the procuring of forgiveness. 
He required, in addition, the earnest interces- 
sion of the rest in his favour, and thus not only 
called into holy exercise the best feelings of 
their hearts, and caused them to sympathize 
deeply with his sorrow, but also, by placing in 
a most prominent view before our youthful eyes 
the nature and power of intercession, taught us 
to appreciate the office of our blessed Redeemer 
in his mediation between holy God and unholy 
man. 

Thus, the whole discipline of home brought 
God continually before our eyes 3 neither the 
fear nor the love of him ceased to be present 
with us. We looked upon its economy as faith- 
fully representing to us his will, and if we could 
not be secure of standing well with him from 
standing well with our family, we were certain 
that we stood ill with him when we stood ill 
with our family 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 167 
I. 

THE RETURN. 

Again, O Lord, with weeping face, 

With burning cheek, and heaving breast, 

I come before thy dwelling place, 

And craveTronce more my wonted rest. 

Where hast fhou been'! — Oh ! do not ask : 

'Tis an intolerable task 

To bring it but to mind. 

Oh ! how shall I endure to hear, 

While my pale lips confess in fear 
Desertion so unkind. 

I have been in regions far away, 

Far from thy true and steady light, 
Where false and borrow' d was the day, 

And false the splendour of the night ; 
Where all was false, and all untrue, 
All mock'd the touch, deceiv'd the view, 

And joy itself a care 
To hide the hideous guest within, 
False looks, false words, false hope, and sin 
Alone substantial there. 

Strange meats I ate, strange drinks I drank, 
Strange speech I heard, strange sights I saw, 

Strange thoughts within me rose and sank, 
Most strange, most alien from thy law. 

Strange joy I had — by fear subdued : 

Strange pleasure felt — by pain ensued : * 



168 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Strange knowledge — 'twas of sin. 
Oh ! I have found, and found in pain, 
All strange from thee is false and vain : 

Kind Master ! take me in. 



II. 

THE RECOVERY. 

God ! when to seek thy long-lost face 
The weeping wanderer turns again, 
Explores in vain the wonted place, 

Untwines each clue of thought in vain, 
Thro' realms of love, of hope, of fear, 
Where'er he look, thou art not there i 

Thou wilt not, in this solitude, 

Leave him for ever lost and parted ; 

For ever hide thy face, exclude 

All comfort from the broken-hearted 1 

" O, no !" I hear a voice reply 

Amid the wilderness, " draw nigh." 

Groping and stumbling, towards the sound 
I come. Ah ! reckless sin hath long 

Buried the track, the memory drown'd 
Of those blest paths I knew when young, 

When thou didst beam where'er I sought, 

Thou wast the beacon to each thought. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 169 

Ah me ! the veil is on my sight — 

Thick — palpable — which, year by year, 

Sin hath been weaving day and night ; 
Tear it away, great Saviour, tear. 

Bid me again thy light explore, 

Free, unincumber'd, as before. 

Now as I speak I catch the rays, 

E'en as the pole-star oft will swim 
Uncertain to the sailor's gaze, 

Floating 'mid clouds and vapours dim, 
And tho', to fix its nickering glare 
Exceed my power, I know 'tis there. 

I know 'tis there, and ask no more — 

But, trusting thy good hour to win, 
When with a steady blaze shall pour 

That light, so long denied to sin, 
Work on in cheerful hope ; thy care 
Hath never slighted faithful prayer. 

It fixes ! — brightens ! — all around 

Breaks into day ! — warm beams pervade 

My torpid breast, the lost is found, 
Tenfold the long drear night repaid ! 

Again before thy blazing seat 

I fall, and worship at thy feet. 



170 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 
III. 

THE BLIND MAN. 

Blind *Bartimaeus ! day and night 

I muse on thee, and hail my mate, 
As, quench'd by sin my inward sight, 
On life's dark road I weep and wait : 
And every passenger implore, 
And every answer proves the more 

Man's help how weak and vain. 
But hark ! I hear the Lord go by, 
The mighty Saviour — "hear my cry, 

List to my suppliant strain, 
Hear, Son of David, my appeal, 
Have mercy on me, stay and heal." 

With angry words the world without 

Chides my importunate address ; 
But no ! still louder will I shout, 

My prayer more urgent will I press. 
Thou glorious Son of David, stay, 
Chase, chase these blinding films away : 

O hark ! he pauses — turns — 
Touches — my walls of darkness nod — 
They fall — 'tis day ! — my King, my God 

This film-purg'd eye discerns : 
Prostrate, in thanks and reverence meet, 
I fall, and kiss his blessed feet. 



* Mark, x. 46. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. lfl 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE FIRST MARRIAGE IN THE FAMILY. 

I was coming one morning out of my church, 
after having performed the ceremony of mar- 
riage to a couple, when I beheld my friend just 
entering the churchyard. The little bridal pro- 
cession respectfully saluted him as it passed, 
and he returned the salute with the marks of his 
usual kindness and affability. When they had 
gone by, he turned and gazed at them for some 
time with fixed earnestness. When he came up 
to me, he said, that procession in white, which 
has just crossed my path, brings vividly to my 
recollection one of the earliest events of our 
family, the marriage of my eldest sister. It left 
a deep impression upon my mind. I have her 
figure now, even at this moment, visibly before 
me as she stood at the altar arrayed in snowy 



172 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

white, and there was recited the passage of 
St. Paul, which declares the union of husband 
and wife to be typical of the mystical unity be- 
tween Christ and his church. She became from 
that instant sanctified in my eyes, and her lovely 
innocent countenance and snow-white raiment, 
to which I knew that the purity of her bosom 
perfectly corresponded, embodied to me in a 
lively representation that church without spot 
or wrinkle, holy and unblamed. She w T as no 
barren spouse of Christ, offered up in mockery 
of our natural feelings by a cruel superstition ; 
but in her I could contemplate the mother of 
many sons of God to come, the teacher of his 
children, the sacred depository of the milk of his 
holy gospel. All trace of Eve and our fallen 
nature seemed vanished ; she bore the stamp of 
the Eve of promise, whose sons, by the help of 
the mighty Conqueror who had gone before, 
should bruise the serpent's head, even as he 
bruised their heel. Through what a peculiar 
series of thoughts, what a solemn train of feel- 
ings, do the words of the Apostle lead us from 
this outward and every-day rite, taking our sight 
away from vulgar objects, and fixing it, through 
this lovely medium, upon the great ark of our 
salvation, the church of God, directing the mind 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 173 

in one comprehensive glance backward to pro- 
phesy,, and forward to fulfilment, and bidding us 
in the dearest of our natural connexions look on 
to the most precious of our spiritual. Thus, in 
this, as in every other instance, the gospel lays 
its sanctifying hand upon each act and incident, 
and refines it to purest spirit. 

On such considerations as these passing 
through my bosom, I became conscious of stand- 
ing in a new relation to the church of Christ, 
brother as I was to one who was destined to give 
it increase, and contribute to perpetuate its vi- 
sible duration through a glittering succession of 
prophets, confessors, and martyrs, to the end of 
time. And most strange have I ever since 
thought it, that men should be so generally deaf 
to the spiritual call announced in this event of 
life, and leave to death the sole privilege of 
pointing their thoughts heavenward ; that the 
hour of joy should be less fruitful in the heart's 
holy motions than that of sorrow. But, so it is ; 
reckless selfish beings as we are, we never ap- 
proach God but when compelled by need : we 
think of him indeed, and pray earnestly when he 
smites, but turn away when he would embrace. 

On that day I lost another sister 5 for, certainly, 
that term became now inapplicable to her in the 



174 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

full sense in which I had hitherto employed it. 
Her heart could no longer be given up to us 
whole and undivided : she was now a wife. I 
could no longer approach her with my former 
reckless playfulness : she was now the matron. 
She was endued with the ensigns of parental 
royalty, a reverence mixed itself with my affec- 
tion, if it did not displace a corresponding por- 
tion of it, and I became insensibly imbued with 
somewhat of the feelings of the subject. O my 
friend, if a change of station like this can so in- 
fluence our mutual affections below, how will 
they stand after the grand and final change to 
which all others are but introductory and typi- 
cal, beyond which all is immutability. But let 
me not encroach upon your attention by enter- 
ing upon a thriftless speculation. 

You will suppose that the hour of my sister's 
departure would, in a family so united, where 
every member had so definite a place assigned, 
be one of proof and trial. So, indeed, it was. 
My sister could not but be aware that she was 
going from a tried to an untried state, that she 
was leaving those with whom love was co-ex- 
tensive with life, for him with whom it was but 
as yesterday. To add to her regret, we were on 
this day met in our full numbers, and home 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 175 

seemed to put on all its charms to mock her. 
Our neighbours, too, with whom she was justly 
popular, were collected in crowds at the gate 5 on 
every side familiar faces presented themselves, 
to be shortly supplanted by strange counte- 
nances — all which she was going to abandon — 
seemed to unite in upbraiding her, by putting 
on the most inviting appearance 5 the very flow- 
ers of the garden seemed confederates in the 
general conspiracy. 

She was going through the several members 
of the family with her mournful adieu, and had 
just quitted the embrace of her mother, the last 
embrace of fostering protection, and dearly loved 
and duly appreciated authority, when, suddenly, 
a loud peal rang from the neighbouring steeple 
to proclaim that the envied bride was proceed- 
ing from her father's home. The sound seemed 
to strike on her heart as heavy as his passing- 
bell to the prisoner on his way to execution. 
She would have fallen had she not caught hold of 
my father, on whom she supported herself, sob- 
bing and shedding tears. My dear child, he cried 
as he gently released her twining arms, this I 
know is to thee a bitter hour. Poor mortal, it 
is thy first change, and thou art for the first time 
quitting known for unknown. Yet, what a slight 



IT6 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

foretaste is this of a time to come. Thou now 
exchangest a father for a husband) hereafter 
thou shalt leave a husband for an everlasting 
Lord. Take courage, therefore, and anticipate 
some of that fortitude which thou must needs 
summon up at thy last day, of which this is the 
warning figure. Come, lift up thine head, and 
remember the high station to which the holy 
church hath this day advanced thee. Thou hast 
been called from the lowly estate of a child to 
be a Christian matron, from a handmaid to be 
mistress of a household. Thou hast been taken 
from the troop of attendant virgins, and admit- 
ted into the holy company of the typical spouses 
of Christ. Dost thou not remember what words 
were addressed to thy prototype ? " Hearken, O 
daughter,' and consider and incline thine ear : 
forget also thine own people, and thy father's 
house. So shall the king have pleasure in thy 
beauty, for he is the Lord thy God, and worship 
thou him." — (Psalm xlv. 11, 12.) Yea, my dear 
child ! forget thy father's house, forget the 
daily satisfaction of thy love and duty towards 
us, though never can we forget in return thy 
unalterable sweetness, thy affectionate attention 
thy unintermitted offices of kindness. Yea, for- 
get all here except that one thing which alone 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 177 

shall survive all change, the knowledge of Christ 
which here thou hast acquired. O thou type of 
his blessed church, O thou image of his spiri- 
tual spouse, remember that, as she is the mother 
of pure and holy children, such also must thou 
be. Thou must be the mother of Abel, and not 
of Cain ; thou must add champions to the host 
of God, and not revellers to the rout of Belial. 
Go forth, then, with a portion more precious than 
ten thousand times the worldly goods with which 
I send thee forth endowed ; carry out with thee 
the economy of a godly household. Induce thy 
husband (if indeed he need to be induced) to unite 
with thee, heart and hand, in this labour of love, 
so that the house of thy sojourn be not less holy 
than that whence thou shalt have come. Let no 
descendant of mine bring discredit on my in- 
structions, nor sorrow to my grey hairs. I have 
earnestly, and ever, prayed God that he would of 
all trials spare me this j and, therefore, I charge 
thee in his blessed name, before his holy angels, 
and by all which thou hast received from me in 
body and in soul, for this life and for the life to 
come, diligently to watch, labour, and do the ut- 
most which in thee lies, to avert so lamentable, 
so shameful a consequence. But whither am I 
running ? Pardon, dear daughter, the excess of 



178 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 

my love and jealousy for my Master's honour, 
which have led me unwittingly to address thee 
in words approaching too nearly to an upbraiding 
strain. Oh, whom in this world can I trust, if 
not thee, thee the help and comfort of so many 
years — Farewell ! — Ah, poor child ! it is indeed a 
sad rent. But here stands one nigh thee, desti- 
ned to close up the void of thy affections. Oh, 
I beseech thee, as thou clingest round him, and 
findest how fully his love and duty have filled 
the dreaded void, think, and think again, of him 
of whom he is to thee the mystic representative, 
and assure thyself how fully he can supply every 
void, and draw entire upon himself the affec- 
tions which have been withdrawn from the fleet- 
ing objects of this world below. — There ! I com- 
mit thee to him, who is henceforward charged 
by God and man with the love and care of thee. 
Again, farewell! Even thus must we all in our 
appointed time part to our several stations, 
whether God shall fix them immediately in this 
world, or in the next. Heaven's blessing be 
upon you both, now and for ever ! 

In a few moments after this parting address, 
bride and bridegroom, carriage and crowd, had 
vanished. The gates were closed, and all re- 
turned to more than its wonted stillness. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 1 ~9 



THE BRIDE. 

Ah, Bride ! in robes of snowy fold 

Thou standest deck'd, thy partner's pride, 
And on thy brow 
Wreath' d nowrets glow. 
So stood thy Prototype of old, 

The Everlasting at her side ; 
In sunny robes of holiness 

'Mid her attendant virgins soar'd, 
While round her, prodigal to bless, 

The Spirit all his fragrance pour'd, 
And heaven and earth, by nations came 
With oiferings, and ador'd her name. 

Ah, Bride ! reluctant, weeping sore, 

Thou quittest scenes of by-gone mirth : 
Yea, give lament 
Full scope and vent : 
So wept thy Prototype of yore, 

And bade farewell to joys of earth ; 
When the celestial bridegroom bare 

Her steps away, and home, and sire, 
And love, and ease, and worldly care, 

And pomp, and pride, and vain desire, 
All she forsook, content to cling 
Around the everlasting King. 

Ah, Bride ! and thou must weep again, 
In bitter travail, faint, and mourn ; 



180 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Nor thou alone 
Those pangs hast known : 
So cried thy Prototype in pain, 

When her blest progeny was born. 
Sword, chains, and torture, fire and stake, 

To her last need a bed supplied ; 
Stripe, wound, and bruise, and torturing ache 

Stood ministers her couch beside : 
Down on the dust's vile pallet strown 
She lay, and breath' d a feeble moan. 



Ah, Bride ! and smiles shall come at last : 

A mother's joy past pangs replace ; 
And blest shall be 
Thy well-earn'd glee : 
So smil'd thy Prototype, and cast 

Pond looks of gladness on her race. 
O'er a vast multitude she smil'd, 

That endless stretch'd till sight grew faint. 
In each assembled face a child 

She saw, and every child a saint : 
Look'd from her golden throne, while grew 
Her raptures on the long review. 

Ah, Bride ! in faith thus smile and weep, 
Holy thy grief be, pure thy joy : 
So shall heaven ope 
His starry cope, 
And angels bend, and number keep 
Of every smile, and every sigh. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 181 

O, image of the eternal spouse, 

Type of all purest, holiest, best, 
Up to the glorious picture rouse 

Each slumbering motion of thy breast, 
And with thy beauteous spirit prove 
The heavenly bridegroom's deathless love. 



182 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 



CHAPTER XIII. 

THE GARDEN. 

There were still many relics of former days, 
and traces of the inhabitance of a numerous 
family, to be found in the Manor-house, and its 
appended garden, exclusive of the lofty walls of 
the latter, of its terrace terminated at each end 
by an alcove, whence you looked down upon an 
oblong fishpond set in the greenest turf, of its 
filbert grove, and lofty walnut-trees. I was walk- 
ing in it one day with my friend, when my eye 
was caught by a long bed beneath one of the 
walls, parallel to which it ran, and divided in its 
other direction into several portions by parti- 
tions of uncemented stone, on which the moss 
had now filled up in a good measure the cre- 
vices, and supplied the place of mortar. They 
seemed to owe their preservation to the conve- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 183 

nient use to which the occupier applied them, 
in keeping certain crops asunder. 

It would seem, said my friend, observing the 
object of my attention, as if a traditionary sense 
of Paradise and its delights had, with the mass 
of our instincts, accompanied the transmission 
of the flesh from sire to son. Man is naturally 
fond of a garden, and to a Christian it possesses 
a sacredness which throws a holiness over all its 
operations. In a garden the first man was born, 
there he tasted (and nowhere else) purely inno- 
cent joy 5 and in a garden, too, was undergone 
the ao;onv of him that restored that bliss, and 
there also was buried the restorer. As in every 
other case, my father turned to account this 
primary direction of nature. He assigned us 
each our little plot to adorn and cultivate, and 
these partitions marked our several portions. I 
may call this spot the cradle of my moral cha- 
racter, to the formation of w T hich it contributed 
almost as much as to my bodily vigour. It was 
at all times a resource against listlessness, and 
many a fit of lowness of spirits, and of impatient 
temper, too, have I vanquished here 5 for its 
occupations not only called off my brooding at- 
tention from myself, but filled my mind with 
the most soothing and agreeable images. For 



184 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

these I have to thank my dear father, who in- 
wove every object here with such glorious and 
joyous associations. 

He did not encourage us in taking the care of 
animals as our amusement, while he promoted 
our love of fostering plants to the utmost of his 
power. I perceive the wisdom of his distinction. 
In the former case, the passions of the creature 
provoke in return the worst passions of its mas- 
ter, and its occasional resistance to his whim 
and caprice rouses into action the elementary 
feelings of tyranny. Besides, its condition in 
the creation comes too near our own to suggest 
much beyond the usual routine of thought in a 
child. But in plants there are no passions to 
combat, there is no victory to be gained, which, 
in proportion to its completeness, inflicts on the 
conqueror himself the deeper moral wound. 
They obey implicitly, and shew a kind of pas- 
sive gratitude by faithfully exhibiting in their 
growth and appearance the smallest exertion of 
his hands. At the same time, the child soon 
finds that, however fond he may be of indulging 
a cruel caprice or curiosity, he must forego it 
here. They can yield him no homage of cries 
and groans by which to feed his feeling of power. 
But the beauty, tenderness, and delicacy of 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 1S5 

forms by which they return his labours, win his 
heart, and call forth its best affections. At the 
same time, every thing concerning them leads 
him on to the contemplation of an agent besides 
himself. Between the placing of the root in the 
ground, and the putting forth of the blossom, he 
perceives, that a hand must be working when his 
own is idle, and without whose working his own 
would have been uselessly employed in the very 
first instance. Day after day, he comes to see 
more and more the subserviency of his operations 
to those of this hand, and that continual working 
of Providence, which from its familiarity escapes 
our view in looking on ourselves, presents itself 
here almost palpable at every turn, and God is 
walking in the garden as in Paradise of old. 
Such was the process, as far as I can now con- 
ceive, of my thoughts 3 in addition to this, I 
reaped an inferior, though important advantage. 
I was led to note times and seasons, and learn 
the value of an opportunity. 

But our fondness for the garden, and famili- 
arity with its objects and operations, laid a fund 
for moral and religious illustration, whence my 
father dealed out to us with no sparing hand -, 
he followed, indeed, the example of a greater 
teacher still, who hath bidden us look at the 



186 THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 

lilies of the field, who figured himself under the 
vine, and cursed the unbelieving Jerusalem in 
the barren fig-tree. Such illustrations come at 
once to the heart, they refer us to scenes of 
pure and guiltless delight, and we feel a lurking 
flattery, despite of a melancholy feeling of the 
frailty of tenure which such types exhibit, at 
the being compared to flowers, glad that we can 
in any degree resemble and call to mind these 
beautiful and innocent tribes of creation. From 
the laying of the seed in the ground till it re- 
appear in the pod an hundred, or perhaps ten 
thousand fold, and come again into our hands to 
re-commit to earth, what a series of analogies 
for moral illustration ! Birth, infancy, youth, 
manhood, old age, and death, are thrust upon 
our reflection by a single plant, in one short 
summer. The dew, the rain, the duly attem- 
pered heat, remind us of our blessings 3 and the 
blight, the frost, the shears, warn us to prepare 
against equally sudden visitations. Every flower, 
too, from some peculiar characteristic, enforces 
its peculiar moral. The lowly, yet fragrant, 
violet, the tall, flaunting, but ill-odoured poppy, 
the ubiquity of the hardy daisy, the snowdrop 
timidly opening the year, the foxglove glowing 
with rich purple, and glorying in the scorching 



THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 18/ 

heat of Midsummer, and the dismal-looking 
Michaelmas daisy, crying out to the rest of its 
tribe, like the poor prophet of Jerusalem, " Woe ! 
woe! woe! for winter is coming," and struck 
down at last in its speech by his icy dart 3 all 
these convey their appropriate lessons, and my 
father stored himself well from their treasure- 
house. Thus, in one sense, every tree in the 
garden was a tree of knowledge 3 and the style 
of thought, produced by its moral associations, 
made it somewhat savour of the fragrance of 
innocence and wisdom which sanctified its bliss- 
ful predecessor. 

Trifles often shew forth peculiarity of charac- 
ter with more decided effect than more impor- 
tant occasions. Our gardens proved this maxim 
abundantly 3 for, not only was it easy to distin- 
guish which belonged to a boy, and which to a 
girl, the latter cherishing the more delicate-hued 
and tender, the former the more flaunting and 
sturdy 5 but, among those of the same sex, a 
remarkable difference was discernible. One of 
my brothers, who was afterwards a merchant, 
was an utilitarian, and his border was filled with 
only such plants as were on the list of domestic 
economy. I was his next neighbour ; and his 
sombre troop of sage, lettuce, and thyme, made 



188 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

a singular contrast with my showy array. I 
have heard many a hearty laugh both from fa- 
mily and friends, at my central group of gaudy 
orange lilies, surrounded with knots of poppies, 
and my tall, stately, soldier-like holly-hocks, 
which took their stand there in their due season. 
My father would often amuse himself in viewing 
these characteristics, and would delight us by 
playfully entering into the merry rallies, which, 
with all good-nature, we freely bestowed upon 
each other. We little thought that he was in 
mind going far beyond amusement, and that our 
most careless moments were to decide our fu- 
ture destination. But he was right. I verily 
believe that my garden sent me off to India. 

I perceive a straggling violet or two yet lin- 
gering at the foot of the wall where was once 
the plot of that sister whose death I have al- 
ready mentioned to you, as the first occurring 
in our family. After we had outgrown our 
childish amusement, these plots were converted 
to different purposes; her's was turned to a bed 
of violets. It was in full bloom and fragrance 
on the day of her funeral, of which its odour has 
to me been redolent ever since. It stays not in 
the outward senses, but comes like a palpable 
blow upon my heart, and inflicts even yet a 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 189 

sharp, though momentary pang. Let us pass 
on. A nightingale at that moment began his 
song from the hawthorn hedge, and gave most 
opportunely a different channel to our thoughts. 



THE PIMPERNELL.* 

See'st yon Pimpernell ? an hour is past 

And he was holding dalliance with the sun, 

All bar'd his crimson pride : now clos'd, downcast, 
His blossoms seek their favorite skies to shun. 

Young Edwin came, the warning change beheld, 
Then hurried to his hinds, and hark ! I hear 

His loaded waggons creaking from the field, 
Eor storms, he says, and angry hours are near. 

Oh ! 'mid the flowers life's tortuous path that strew, 
Is there not one like this ? E'en as I speak, 

Thy bosom-friend's estranged look review, 
Remark his icy eye, his smileless cheek. 

Adversity is nigh ! — Speed, counsel how 

To soften as thou may est the inevitable blow. 



* This little flower is a well-known weathergage, always shutting 
up its blossoms before rain. 



190 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 
II. 

THE PREACHERS. 

Amid my garden's broider'd paths I trod, 

And there my mind soon caught her favorite clue ; 
I seem'd to stand amid the church of God, 

And flowers were preachers, and (still stranger) drew 
From their own life and course 
The lore they would enforce, 
And sound their doctrine was, and every precept true. 

And first the Sunflower spake. Behold, he said, 

How I unweariedly from dawn to night 
Turn to the wheeling sun my golden head, 

And drink into my disk fresh draughts of light. 
O, mortal ! look and learn ; 
So, with obedient turn, 
From womb to grave pursue the sun of life and might. 

And next I heard the lowly Camomile, 

Who, as I trod on him with reckless feet, 
And wrang his perfume out, cried, List awhile — 
E'en thus with charity the proud one greet. 
And, as in suiters press, 
E'en turn thou thus and bless, 
And yield from each heart's bruise a redolence more 
sweet. 

Then from his rocky pulpit I heard cry 

The Stonecrop. See how loose to earth I grow, 

And draw my juicy nurture from the sky. 

So drive not thou, fond man, thy root too low ', 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 191 

But loosely clinging here, 
From God's supernal sphere 
Draw life's unearthly food, catch heaven's undying glow. 

Then preach'd the humble Strawberry. Behold 

The lowliest and least adorn' d of flowers 
Lies at thy feet ; yet lift my leafy fold, 

And fruit is there unfound in gaudier bowers. 
So plain be thou, and meek, 
And when vain man shall seek, 
Unveil the blooming fruit of solitary hours. 

Then cried the Lily : Hear my mission next. 
On me thy Lord bade ponder and be wise ; 
O, wan with toil, with care and doubt perplext, 
Survey my joyous bloom, my radiant dies. 
My hues no vigils dim, 
All care I cast on him, 
Who more than faith can ask each hour to faith supplies. 

The Thistle warn'd me last ; for, as I tore 

The intruder up, it cried, Rash man, take heed ! 
In me thou hast thy type. Yea, pause and pore — 
Even as thou doth God his vineyard weed : 
Deem not each worthier plaut 
For thee shall waste and want, 
Nor fright with hostile spines thy Master's chosen seed. 

Then cried the garden's host with one consent : 
Come, Mao, and see how, day by day, we shoot, 

For every hour of rain, and sunshine lent, 

Deepen our glowing hues, and drive our root ; 



192 THE RECTORS OF VALEHEAD. 

And, as our heads we lift, 
Record each added gift, 
And bear to God's high will, and man's support, our fruit. 

O, Leader thou of earth's exulting quire, 

Thou with a first-born's royal rights endued, 
Wilt thou alone be dumb? alone desire 
Renew'd the gifts so oft in vain renew'd ? 
Then sicken, fret, and pine, 
As on thy head they shine, 
And wither 'mid the bliss of boundless plenitude? 

Oh, come ! and, as thy due, our concert lead. 

Glory to him, the Lord of life and light, 
Who nurs'd our tender leaf, our colours spread, 
And gave thy body mind, the first-born's right, 
By which thy flight may cleave 
The starry pole, and leave 
The yovnger mates below in death's unbroken night. 



III. 
THE NIGHTINGALE. 

Sweet bird ! with gush and liquid shake, 

Startling my ear uupractis'd long, 
Or chattering from thy hidden brake, 
Tempering with artful foil thy song ; 
And waking then 
Hill, wood, and glen, 
With one long melancholy note, 
Pouring a flood of sweetness from thy throat. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 193 

■Oft have I tax'd thee with caprice, 

And. wayward mood, the songster's shame, 
Charging- on thee mine own dull vice. 
Oh, could I half thy wisdom claim ! 
For now, at last, 
Thy numbers cast 
Their sense into this soul of mine, 
And every note hath meaning and design 

Thou singest of another clime, 

Strange to our thought, and sight, and ear ; 
And thither, with revolving time, 
Again thy vigorous wing shall steer. 
E'en to thy nest 
Thou art but a guest, 
And foreigners are thy little brood ; 
Their home is far o'er yonder ocean's flood. 

Sweet bird ! e'en such a guest as thou 

Hath nestled in this happy heart ; 
He came, I know not whence nor how, 
"Whither I know not shall depart : 
But he shall rear 
A progeny here 
Of holy thoughts, to wing their flight 
Homeward with him to everlasting light. 

Yea ! God's own Spirit here hath made 

His habitation, and each hour 
His monitory notes pervade 

Its inmost nook with piercing power, 

o 



194 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

A varied strain 
Of joy and pain, 
As o'er this world of flesh he wails, 
Or worlds of bliss in distant prospect hails. 

He wails o'er days and years mis-spent, 

O'er good rejected, welcom'd ill, 
O'er bliss, which never thanks upsent, 
O'er chastenings, and rebellion still ; 
O'er fruitless tear, 
Vows insincere, 
And stubborn will, and mind perverse, 
That duly turn'd each blessing to a curse. 

And then he sings of realms of joy, 

Whence he hath come, and where shall go, 
Of fulness never doom'd to cloy, 
Thoughts uncontemplated below ; 
The Godhead's blaze, 
Where angels gaze, 
And thrones are set for spirits blest, 
Amid the mansions of undying rest. 

Sweet bird ! unwearied passenger ! 

E'en thus, with each revolving spring, 
Thou biddest me new thoughts confer, - 
Bearest fresh wisdom on thy wing ; 
And ay I yearn 
At thy return 
Tor realms beyond this darkling mine. 
Oh ! be my passage fleet and smooth as thine. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD 195 



CHAPTER XIV. 

THE ABSENTEE. 

Ag ree ably to his promise, my friend called 
upon me a few days after our last walk, to 
conduct me on another. He led me two or three 
miles up the valley, until we came to where a 
round green knoll rose in the centre of the 
flattest part, and compelled the river to make 
an elbow. It very effectually sheltered a farm- 
house from the assault of the north-east wind. 
Its summit had been raised artificially, and, like 
every eminence in the neighbourhood, was 
deeply indented with a trench and mound. In 
the centre of this fortified circle rose an oak- 
tree, which, thus situated, seemed to employ, 
as a defence against the cattle, the rampart 
which the ancient native had used for protection 
from the stranger. My friend took me up to it, 



196 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

and pointed out with more than common in- 
terest its healthy youth, proved by the smooth 
polish of its rind, and vigorous freshness of 
verdure. This tree, he said, I value more than 
all upon the estate, (for it was on a farm of 
his 5) it was planted by a younger and favourite 
brother the day before he left home, never, 
alas ! to return. He was full, no doubt, of the 
foreboding natural on such occasions, and willing 
to leave this monument behind him, not without 
a hope, however, anticipating the joyful hour 
when he should behold it again, and its stature 
be in apt correspondence with his ripened pros- 
pects. His destination was India, where he 
joined me. What an overflow of happiness he 
brought with him, for he seemed not only to 
bring himself, (and who that has not felt can 
estimate the joy and delight of seeing once 
again a favourite brother ?) but home also with 
him. His thoughts, his language, his counte- 
nance, were all redolent of it, and I could not 
satisfy myself with gazing upon one who had 
been so lately the object of the gaze of the as- 
sembled family, and seemed almost to bear their 
looks lingering upon him still. I could again 
open my heart ; and, in a few days, I satisfied 
the solitude of years. He would often, in our 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 197 

conversation upon home, in which we. fondly 
called up to mind the most trifling circumstance, 
(and the more trifling it was, the closer we 
hugged it to heart, for we then felt what a 
strong hold we had upon the memory of its 
dear inmates,) he would often recur to this tree, 
and fondly wonder how it was faring. Imme- 
diately after my return, I sought it out, and, 
from remembering his description, found it 
without difficulty. Oh ! how my heart bled 
when I beheld its straight and vigorous stem, 
which seemed to mock the mortality of its 
planter, who had long been mouldering in the 
grave. 

His death again consigned me to solitude, 
and to that species of solitude which is of all 
most intolerable. For what is most commonly 
understood by solitude, the converse of the 
hermit with the face of nature, unintruded upon 
by men, scarcely deserves the title. He sur- 
rounds himself with visionary beings, from whose 
society there is no external interruption to break 
him off. Nor do I mean, though it much more 
nearly approaches what I felt, the solitude amid 
crowds, when we meet at every moment the 
natural objects of our sympathy, and yet are 
debarred from the enjoyment of them , when 



198 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

we are conscious of every passenger having 
affections to bestow, but not upon us, and we 
feel, in consequence, repudiated by the whole 
human race, who, while by their presence they 
banish that visionary world to which we would 
fain fly for refuge, yet impart to us none of the 
comforts of the real. The solitude of which I 
speak is still more bitter than this \ it is the 
utter deprivation of religious sympathy which 
I experienced in a heathen land. Accustomed 
as I had been to identify sacred rites with the 
religion of Christ, to see in every thing bearing 
the human form a brother in Christ, I now found 
around me a religion in direct rebellion to the 
dearest and most sacred feelings of my bosom 5 
I beheld crowds gathering to worship, but could 
not, dared not, accompany them even with my 
thoughts into their temple, much less join in 
communion 3 and ardently longing to associate 
w r ith my fellow- creatures in the praises of our 
common maker, and warm my heart with their 
pious sympathy, I was compelled to turn away 
from the face of man* and from all that I was 
wont to cling to as incentives to holy feelings, 
with abhorrence and disgust, to fly to God in 
the deepest recesses of my solitary bosom; for 
there alone, notwithstanding the million of beings 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 199 

by which I was surrounded, 1 was enabled to find 
him. There, indeed, amid that desert, he was 
my guiding cloud by day, my pillar of fire by 
night. 

Nevertheless, the social feelings implanted in 
our nature, and encouraged and built upon by 
our religion, require to be satisfied. I could not 
always bear to think of myself as an isolated, 
and, as it were, excommunicated being, and 
that sympathy which was denied in the flesh I 
sought and obtained in the spirit. Now it was 
that I felt the blessed fruits of my father's care 
in instilling those principles which I have al- 
ready detailed to you as regulating our external 
communion. I leaped at once from my solitude 
into the midst of a holy and glorious society, 
both of earth and heaven 5 I considered that I was 
a member of the church of Christ, a partaker in 
the communion of saints. Unspeakable (how- 
ever imaginary some may think it) was my com- 
fort. I could call up familiar faces of members 
of that body, but above all, I knew the train of 
thought which pervaded it, and which brought 
me into actual spiritual society with it. For, 
assuredly, if coincidence of time and place be 
sufficient for bodily presence, coincidence of 
thought must be for spiritual. Had I been less 



200 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

deeply imbued with this spirit,, had my commu- 
nion been but with nominal members, and my 
conversation with them of that transitory and 
capricious cast, which cannot promise a mo- 
ment's sympathy between the absent 5 had I never 
gone beyond the abstract idea of this glorious 
society, nor given substance and individuality 
to as much as came within my sphere, it would 
then have been to me indeed an imaginary body, 
an empty sound, a barren comfort. Disappointed 
and disgusted, I should have taken refuge, per- 
haps in indifference, and finally settled in prac- 
tical infidelity. 

But with this feeling I never felt isolated, not- 
withstanding my solitude at a distant station 
which was many hundred miles from any Chris- 
tian society. I was one of a substantial body, 
with which, whether visible or not, I was ever 
in real communion. Thus, I soon mastered all 
distressing feelings, and subdued that intolerable 
yearning, which the sight of a strange religion 
occasions to one denied the enjoyment of his 
own, putting him in mind of something so much 
better, and more in harmony with his bosom. 
And the solemn call of the Imaum at morn and 
eve, summoning the Moslem to worship, and the 
sights and sounds of the rites of Hindoo sacrifice, 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 201 

if, perhaps, they raised a moment's melancholy 
by proclaiming, as it were, to me my utter soli- 
tude, yet they immediately after served to put 
me in mind of the wondrous blessing, and op- 
portunities which God had conferred upon me, 
having reared me like Samuel in his temple, and 
protecting me like Daniel amid the heathen. 
And though I felt all the longing of the Israelite, 
who, surrounded by heathen abominations, cried 
out, " Oh! how amiable are thy dwellings, thou 
Lord of Hosts : my soul hath a desire and long- 
ing to enter into the courts of the Lord, my heart 
and my flesh rejoice in the living God." (Oh ! 
I repeated that beautiful hymn with streaming 
eyes, when for the first time after many a long 
year they saluted a Christian church.) Yet I was 
cheerfully resigned to the lot which God had 
assigned me, and my solitude, concentrating so 
much of my thoughts upon myself, made the 
consciousness of his continual support more than 
ever palpable and lively. 

Nor did I lose the benefits even of our internal 
domestic communion. Each day at morn and 
eve, at the hours which I knew were customary 
for prayer, I retired to join my spirit to theirs. 
I put up their names, one by one, (how I de- 
lighted in pronouncing them) in a prayer corres- 



202 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

ponding to that which I knew was at the very 
same moment being offered up for me. Great, 
very great, is the comfort of praying for those 
whom we reverence and love, still greater if we 
can be assured that they also are then praying 
for us. We feel all the joy and gladness of a 
mutual meeting before the throne of God) there 
is imparted to the heart, however desolate before, 
an inexpressible sociality, may I say a holy con- 
viviality 3 and we then, more than at any other 
time, are conscious of the indissoluble union 
which we have obtained by being one in the 
Lord. 

Meanwhile, that dear circle of home was di- 
minishing apace. Several times it was my sad 
lot to find by letters at noon that one for whom 
among the rest I had offered my morning sup- 
plication had been for some months beyond all 
need of human intercession) and with a resigned 
heart, though with streaming eyes, I omitted 
the name in the evening. At last, befpre I quit- 
ted the country, but one sister remained upon 
my list, and she lived not to hail my return. 
I confess that I clung tenaciously to this last 
name ; it seemed my last hold upon earth, the 
only bar left between me and the spiritual world, 
which, however the soul may love to contem- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 203 

plate, our bodily nature regards with a shrinking 
awe. IVIy consolation each time was that they 
could not be more absent in the flesh than be- 
fore, and were probably much nearer in the spi- 
rit; and now, at this moment, when I am the 
only one left, I cannot feel that I have lost any- 
thing more than their bodily presence, and pa- 
tiently await my dissolution as the means of 
perfecting that union of spirit which it has been 
the object of our lives to maintain. Lord Jesus, 
in thee I have been joined unto them, and in 
thee shall be joined. 

A violent storm, which had been gradually 
obscuring the upper part of the valley, now 
reached us. His brother's tree sheltered us with 
its full foliage from its fury. When it was over, 
the old man looked up among the boughs with 
a smile of deep delight, which he then signifi- 
cantly directed to me. We then quitted the hill. 
I have paid it many a visit since. 



THE VISIT. 

With bleeding heart, thro' glen, o'er steep, 

I reach at last the sacred spot 
Where I must sit awhile, and weep 

O'er him who was, and now is not. 



204 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Alas ! to this sequestered shade 
His guiding step my step obeyed, 

And on this mossy chair 
We sate, and talk'd of days to come, 
Nor thought of woe, nor dream'd of gloom, 

Fond worldlings as we were. 

Along yon rugged mountain mass, 
This valley's domineering Lord, 
Oft would his pointed finger pass 

O'er peaks and glens to be explor'd. 
And unexplor'd they still remain, 
And gleam and lure my steps in vain — 

I cannot, dare not go. 
Beheld in sunny distance here, 
Each destin'd spot invokes a tear, 

And breaks my heart in two. 

Upon this mossy trunk I shed, 

(The chair on which he sate that day) 
The fruitless offerings of the dead, 

The gayest flowers that cross'd my way. 
Sad ministry ! yet fondly dear 
To him whose hands the fatal bier 

Bore not, nor eye surrey'd. 
Ah ! flowers of other suns, and strown 
By other hands, bedeck'd the stone 
Where that dear form is laid. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 205 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE FIRST-BORN- 

Ox one of those mornings in the latter end of 
Spring, which compel us by their loveliness to 
give up all occupation within doors., I accompa- 
nied my friend on one of his rambles : the day 
promised much from its light and shade, and 
he seemed to be in a mood to extract the utmost 
both of contemplation and delight which sur- 
rounding objects could supply. Having crossed 
our valley, we toilsomely wound up a lofty bur 
sharp and narrow ridge, by which we are sepa- 
rated from another valley running parallel to 
our own, but exhibiting in its straightened 
breadth a wilder character. From being expo- 
sed to the sun, and sheltered from the wind, we 
found the ascent very hot and close ; but as soon 
as ever our heads began to peep above the brow 



206 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

of the hill, a fresh breeze delightfully fanned 
our faces, and brought with it upon our ear soft 
swells of music and the merry pealing of bells. 
On looking down below upon a favorite view, we 
saw a flag flying upon the top of the village 
tower. Every thing denoted some unusual oc- 
casion of joyful festivity. We had not been 
speculating upon it long, before a peasant, in his 
way from the village, informed us that they were 
celebrating the birth of a son and heir newly 
born to the great proprietor of the valley. 

It is very well, it is even very right, said my 
friend, after indulging a few moments in musing, 
that the first-born should be ushered into the 
world with more than ordinary welcome,, I only 
wish that they would put their respect and joy 
upon a more suitable footing than is commonly 
done : that they would look to the dignity of cha- 
racter with which the moral constitution of society 
invests the son and heir, rather than to his large 
expectations. Society hails him as the person 
set apart by Providence to succeed in upholding 
and transmitting her institutions, as a future 
centre of union to a portion of her members, 
and point of support to her necessary relations. 
She sees in him one pledge more of her conti- 
nuance, if not of her improvement j and in the 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 207 

little world of home he is joyfully saluted as the 
future main trunk in which all the branches 
shall maintain their connexion, and the family 
still retain a root in earth. But how much more 
excellent is this dignity in a religious point of 
view. If we turn to the earliest state of God's 
church upon earth, there, in the first-born of the 
Patriarch, we behold the future High Priest, or- 
dained to mediate with daily sacrifice between 
God and the household 3 we see the destined con- 
servator of his oracles, the chosen channel of his 
blessings to convey them to nations unborn, the 
future king, to rule and dispense justice among 
his brethren ; and though the only begotten 
Son of God, and first-born from the dead, be the 
sole Mediator and High Priest now, and the 
offices of his church have been committed to a 
peculiar class of men, still the son and heir is 
not entirely divested of spiritual privilege and 
responsibility. God still retains some of his 
peculiar claim upon the first-born. As long as 
society is bound together in bonds of Christi- 
anity, there, as future head of the family, as it's 
future representative in the general assemblage 
of families, he is bound in an especial manner 
to qualify himself for discharging that high 



208 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

situation faithfully and diligently, for his sake 
who was first-born among many brethren. 

These, I own, are not the notions commonly 
entertained. Would that they were ! Without 
these privileges, what, indeed, is the first-born ? 
First, it may be said, to enjoy his mother's ca- 
resses 3 first to receive his father's instruction ; 
first to taste all the blissful feelings which exis- 
tence bestows 5 to have offered to him, as to one 
endowed with a sacredness of office, the first 
fruits of all earthly enjoyments $ but, alas ! is 
he not also first to taste the cup of sorrow? is it 
not his to shed the first tear, to heave the first 
sigh, and, in the natural course of things, first to 
quit the banquet of worldly happiness, to which 
he had been so fondly welcomed \ 

As he uttered these last words, the wind,, 
blowing in a sudden fit of freshness, brought 
with it a full gush of the music, and of the 
merry peal of bells from below, and many a 
solitary glen reverberated the roar of cannon. 
The old man smiled. It would seem, he pro- 
ceeded, as if the world had overheard me, and 
sent forth all its tongues in contradiction and 
defiance. But I am not singular : thus thought 
my father, and I have but put together, after the 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 209 

long waste of years, the scattered fragments of 
his instructions. 

Take heed to your ways, my child, (he would 
often say to our eldest brother,) keep a conti- 
nual guard upon your goings, for in this our 
household you occupy, as one endued with royal 
privileges, a station which admits of no privacy. 
Every step which you take is watched, every 
word which you speak is caught up, every thing 
which you are seen to do is immediately imitated 
by your younger brethren, who look to you as 
their model, and are eager, by means of the re- 
semblance, to anticipate the claims and bearing 
of more advanced and privileged years. Oh then, 
my boy, not for your own sake only, but for theirs 
too, not only in prudence, but also in charity, 
be vigilant, and keep a jealous eye to all your 
proceedings. Be not to this little world of ours, 
comparatively innocent now, Oh, be not to it an- 
other first man, as it were, to bring sin into it. 
It had been better for you not to have been born 
than to offend one of these little ones. You 
stand upon an eminence, and, both from above 
and from below, are an object of earnest con- 
templation : from below, to each of these younger 
ones ; from above, to their angels in heaven. Go 
on, therefore, in all circumspection and diligence, 

p 



210 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

remembering that you are captain of a band of 
young soldiers 5 and in you, to step back is to 
impede all behind, to turn aside is to lead them 
astray 5 it lies in you to conduct to victory or 
defeat, to freedom under Christ, or captivity 
under Satan. The voice of flattery will tell you, 
(I doubt not, has already told you,) the world 
will officiously shout into your ear, that you are 
a son and heir. Shew yourself a son and heir 
indeed, a son in dutiful obedience to me, an heir 
in studious preparation to succeed to the go- 
vernment of a household where God is worship- 
ped in sincerity of faith, and to maintain among 
its members the unity of spirit in the bond of 
peace. 

Oh, my first-born in the flesh, be first-born in 
the spirit also, even as you were the first led 
up to the laver of baptism, the first to hear and 
understand the good tidings of the salvation of 
Christ. Undervalue not, therefore, the calling 
with which you have been called 5 forego not, I 
beseech you, these precious privileges, part not 
with them for all which this world can give 5 for, 
so doing, you will commit the crime of Esau, 
w 7 ho, for a paltry momentary gratification, bar- 
tered the glorious office of High Priest of God, 
and transmitter of his blessings 5 yea, and greater 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 211 

than that of Esau will be your condemnation, in 
proportion as the perfection of the gospel is more 
excellent than the rudiments of the law. He 
gave up the blessedness of a Redeemer, who 
should spring from his loins. But you, in your 
falling off, will give up your share in a Redeemer 
who hath already come, and blessed you with all 
spiritual blessedness. Maintain, then, your sta- 
tion, nor let a younger brother take out of your 
hands the enviable privilege of being held up 
as a pattern to the rest in all godliness. 

Son and heir ! look not to a worldly inheri- 
tance, but considering yourself as a mere so- 
journer, like Isaac, in a country not your own, 
patiently await the fulfilment of the promises of 
the Lord. Be thou a son of God, and an heir of 
everlasting life. 

He here ceased. We had unconsciously been 
descending, and having thus again interposed 
the hill between us and the valley, had left the 
music and the bells to sound to their own little 
secluded world, even there soon to be mute, and, 
when again awakened, to celebrate, like true 
hirelings, the praises of another. A fit omen 
this of the treatment which the world prepares 
for a son and heir 



212 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

A TALE OF THE FAMILY. 

During the warm days of August, I used to find 
my friend sitting in a small interior chamber, to 
which I entered through the larger room which 
he commonly occupied. It was peculiarly plea- 
sant at such a season. Through its large mul- 
lioned window he looked out upon a perfectly 
green turf, and the eye ranged up a shady per- 
spective formed by the fine walnut trees, which 
I have before mentioned. Into this shade occa- 
sionally a sudden breeze, bringing delicious cool- 
ness with it, would, by fanning aside the foliage, 
introduce a bright, but momentary gleam, 
throwing out in glowing relief the gigantic 
twisted boughs. Within the room, the idea of 
coolness was immediately suggested by a dark 
wainscot of Norway oak. The sombreness of 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 213 

this ground was relieved by miniatures of the 
family. On these I have often pored with in- 
tense interest, They represented the characters 
of a history which, recording acts of mind rather 
than of body, caused me to look out for some- 
thing important, to find a clue to some trait of 
thought or feeling in every feature. There I 
often indulged my fancy in thinking that I could 
trace signs of the last struggle of some passion, 
bravely combated, and triumphantly quelled ; 
detect the faint marks of some affection, through 
the stamp of the more holy one which had been 
superinduced ; catch the glow of internal peace, 
breaking, as through a veil, through features of 
sorrow: and perceive the merry eye, and the 
lines of smiles around the mouth, chastened bv 
the control of a deep internal feeling, the sense 
no doubt of his presence, who, if he render jov 
less outwardly conspicuous, makes it also more 
inwardly substantial. Thus every feature from 
brow to lip was made to tell a tale, and mv at- 
tention was never weary. 

I remember being received here one morning 
by my friend, in all the ardour of a discovery, 
which he had just made. Chance had directed 
his attention in this room to an old forgotten 
closet, which, by that especial privilege accorded 



214 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

to rambling, ancient houses had completely es- 
caped the notice of all inmates since the day on 
which the last of the family quitted. Its door 
was so assimilated with the wainscoting as not 
to be distinguishable on a common inspection. 
It was here that my friend (as he told me in his 
usual quaint manner) was so fortunate as to dis- 
cover the spirits of the miniatures without, the 
mental portraits of his family, in a number of 
papers, tied up in bundles and dated, which had 
their origin as follows, In the long winter even- 
ings, when a blazing fire and assembled cheerful 
countenances, and in some perhaps that pleasing 
langour which then succeeds to the strong ex- 
ercise of the morning, indispose each of the 
circle to the attention demanded by study or 
any graver reading, it was customary for some 
one, who succeeded, in turn, each evening, to 
recite a light tale, or an interesting anecdote of 
history, either of man or of nature. For this 
purpose, the elder members of the family fre- 
quently prepared themselves with a piece of 
original composition. Of such pieces these bun- 
dles consisted, and seemed to have been formed 
by some one who looked with a yearning heart 
upon the memorials of past days. The titles 
and dates, with the names of the composers, my 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 215 

friend ascertained to be in the hand-writing of 
his latest surviving sister, who lived the last 
few years quite solitary in this once crowded 
mansion. On looking them over, I found them 
all of an instructive cast, particularly interesting 
as illustrating the characters of the several au- 
thors, which, like the miniatures without, how- 
ever differing, shewed that they belonged to the 
same family. My friend was transported for 
some days into the times of his youth, and so- 
ciety long since vanished from the face of the 
earth. Of such as I chose he freely allowed me 
to take copies, and with one of them I here pre- 
sent the reader. Its author was a friend of the 
family, whom I may hereafter mention more 
particularly 3 and it has been selected chiefly 
because it was the shortest, a quality which it 
owed, no doubt, to its being written in verse, 
which has a wonderful effect in compelling a 
writer to cut off those superfluities into which 
sentences, not thus rigidly bound, will run, 
and gather up his ideas in the smallest space 
which they can bean I thought also that its 
introduction would give a variety to my narra- 
tive, at the same time that the subject was not 
too dissimilar from that which I have in hand. 
The prologue, describing the author of the tale, 
was prefixed by my friend. 



216 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



PROLOGUE TO THE WIDOW. 

Leagu'd by the bonds of learning and of truth, 

He and the Rector had been friends in youth, 

And every rolling year but added force 

To friendship, tho' it clipp'd their intercourse. 

Of lowly birth, he fail'd not to derive 

From education all that it can give. 

All own'd his learning, and what breeds in most 

Childish presumption, drew from him no boast. 

Its very vastness serv'd him but to shew 

How little man can hope to learn below. 

Fools, by the steps surpass'd, their progress count 

In lore, the wise by what remain to mount : 

Each guided by their just affinities, 

Those from the earth, these reckoning from the skies. 

But he had more to quell all human pride ; 

In all, he made the book of life his guide. 

Rustic was his appearance, and he woke 

Perhaps your slight derision, till he spoke. 

Then with increasing interest he seiz'd 

Your eye and ear, and all he utter'd pleas'd. 

He had that grace, so felt, not understood, 

That true nobility, but not of blood, 

That gift of winning hearts, so largely given 

To minds that have been born again of heaven. 

A kindness inexpressible shone forth 

In all he said or did, and shew'd his worth. 

Kind was he to the rich ; he knew how rude 

The world assails each struggle to be good. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 21 7 

Kind was he to the poor ; he knew what woes 

Beset their station, — from their ranks he rose. 

Kind to the ignorant ; he knew how small 

Is man's profoundest knowledge after all. 

But though so meek, so humble, and so mild, 

In all disclos'd of heart so quite a child ; 

'Mid his simplicity you could descry 

The beaming of a native dignity, 

That plainly told wherever lay the choice, 

'Twixt God and man he knew no compromise. 

And tho', perhaps, none more allowance made 

For idle words in reckless moments said, 

Yet did they never miss his just rebuke, 

And turn a playful to a serious look. 

Up a long-winding dale, 'mid moorlands drear, 

With rudest neighbours he past all the year, 

Save when this visit 'twas his turn to pay, 

To sun himself i' th' south, as he would say. 

It was a wond'rous change, to meet once more 

With kindred minds, with manners, and with lore, 

To find in conversation and in looks 

What there he was obliged to seek in books ; 

And he enjoy'd the change, and none could be 

More full of wit and playfulness than he ; 

And, when the allotted time expir'd, content 

And strung anew, return' d to banishment, 

From sun and smiling plains to mists and moors, 

From educated life to senseless boors. 

But God had sent him thither, and his choice, 

Where'er it fell, to him was Paradise. 

To this old man the promis'd tale had made 

Its circling progress now, and thus he said : 



218 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

THE WIDOW. 

Amid the northern dales — with fond regret 

I turn me back — my pastoral staff' I set, 

A novice in the ministry, and then 

More read in books than conversant with men. 

Now often with surprise I call to thought 

Perplexities my blissful ignorance brought. 

How I was summoned to the sick man's side, 

And inexperience sympathy denied : 

To waken guilt, whom guilt had never stung ; 

To comfort woe, whom woe had never wrung ; 

Feel with despair, when hope serenest shone, 

And wait on want, who want had never known. 

But time and fortune long have mended this, 

And now I feel with woe more nearly than with bliss. 

Rude was my flock — but soon between us grew 

Close bonds of love, which time still closer drew, 

And every house, in various ways imprest, 

Trusted its little history to my breast. 

Thence to my charge I drew more useful lore 

Than I had drawn from all my books before. 

From this my stock a simple tale I cull : 

Forgive, my hearers, if you find it dull. 

Amid my congregation I had seen 

A Widow (such she seem'd) of decent mien, 

For widow's weeds she wore, and on her brow 

Was stamp'd the ne'er-mistaken mark of woe. 

She sate beneath a tablet that was styl'd 

In memory of a hushand and a child . 

I never miss'd her ; were it foul or fair, 

Or rain, or snow, or flood, she still was there ; 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 219 

There with her hand across her aged eyes, 

(The world shut out, her heart had room to rise.) 

I never caught a glance ; 'twas still the same, 

Still wrapt and downcast till the sermon came. 

Then with unfailing earnestness her look 

Was given up to me, nor once forsook. 

I thank'd my God, such hearers hid us feel 

Our awful charge, and edge our blunted zeal. 

'Twas my delight, the morning service o'er, 

To see the massy crowds that left the door 

Break into little troops, that duly sped 

Each to its vale, some patriarch at his head. 

Far o'er the hills I watch'd each parting train, 

Till in their valley's lap they sank again. 

And oft, in summer-tide, an hour was past, 

In this review before I lost the last. 

But in no troop the aged widow went, 

Duly she vanish'd where, confusedly rent, 

Two towery cliffs disclos'd a narrow vent. 

And at that point as duly she was spied, 

E'en to a minute, in the morning-tide, 

So regular, so accurately true, 

" The Widow in the gorge" a signal grew. 

Boys ceas'd their play, and hurried to their books, 

Girls donn'd their bonnets, and their Sunday looks. 

Each dale and dingle I had now explor'd, 

That to my church it's weekly tribute pour'd, 

But this unvisited remain'd ; away 

From every ordinary track it lay, 

Trod but by urchins who had roam'd astray. 

One morn, a lovely morn in June, I took 

My lonely way, to explore the Widow's nook. 



220 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Beyond the gorge a grassy comb I found, 

Scoop'd amid dark-blue mountains circling round. 

A tarn, spread like a mirror at their feet, 

Stretch'd circular, and, black with depth, its sheet, 

Fed by a roaring cataract, that sent 

A dewy haze across the vale's extent. 

Amid enclosures, whose trim form imprest 

A greater wilderness upon all the rest, 

Rear'd on its banks the Widow's house arose, 

With massive slating, proof to winter's snows. 

With smiles she greeted me, with smiles which threw, 

As our talk deepen'd and acquaintance grew, 

A fainter radiance, fading one by one, 

Like gleams before the tempest coming on : 

Till, long before she clos'd, the last had fled, 

And a deep melancholy gloom'd instead. 

I bore it patiently, methought, she cried, 

My first affliction, when my husband died; 

Of half my sublunary store bereft — 

This would but render dearer what was left. 

And after many a night of sorrow sore, 

And many a page of holy writ turned o'er, 

Prevail'd upon myself to term the woe 

A mercy — but I could not feel it so — ■ 

Ordain'd to make me know the real worth 

Of all the transitory bliss of earth ; 

To yield without complaint our Maker's due, 

And bless the Giver and the Taker too. 

But when that too, my last, my only joy, 

That bliss unspeakable, my poor dear boy, 

That solace of each week, and day, and hour, 

That robb'd this world of care of half its power, 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 221 

When that too went — forgive me, mighty God — 

I could not bow, I could not kiss the rod. 

I term'd the visitation (weak and rash) 

No sire's correction, but the tyrant's lash, 

And, reckless of what further storm may burst, 

Call'd, day and night, on him to do his worst ; 

All that before upheld me flang away, 

And op'd the sacred volume — uot to pray — 

But smile in bitter scorn upon the leaf, 

And mock the page that promis'd bliss to grief. 

And e'en when months their tedious course had run, 

And woe diminish'd with each added sun, 

Rebellion was unquell'd, maintain'd its part, 

In a perverted head and callous heart. 

'Twas then that good old man, so meek, so mild, 

(He lies between my husband and my child,) 

Your predecessor, sought me out. Severe 

The struggle was that he encounter'd here. 

But he prevail'd at length ; can I forget 

That blessed day — Oh no ! I feel it yet — 

When life and heat, launch'd forth in every strain, 

Thrill'd thro' my wither'd heart, and bade it throb again 1 

When light pour'd in thro' my glaz'd eye at last, 

And I beheld, as in a dream, the past 1 

I found that I had center'd every joy, 

Each hope that heaven demanded, in my boy : 

An idol had been worshipping, which took 

From the great owner every thought and look. 

Now nothing interpos'd, and straight to heaven, 

Each look ascended, and each thought was given. 

Hence patiently — but not without a tear — 

I look behind, and all before is clear. 



222 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

And lonely tho' my neighbours deem my life, 

Who once appear'd a mother and a wife ; 

And you, perhaps, these rocks and wilds unknown 

May awe, yet never was I less alone. 

No — not when beaming in his boyhood's pride, 

My darling son was ever at my side ; 

; Mid this unpeopled dell, these paths untrod, 

I see, I hear, I almost touch my God. 

And tho' on wintry nights my friends below 

A thought upon the Widow's dell bestow, 

Pity my lonely and uncircled hearth, 

It has its joys and bliss, tho' not of earth. 

The very sounds that fright and wake their sigh, 

Rains, winds, scath'd fragments tumbling from on high, 

Assure me that my guardian still is nigh. 

The only foe I have is Memory now, 

And every day he deals a fainter blow, 

And stirs me but to turn my face away, 

And gaze before me upon growing day. 

" My boy V you ask — " nay, no excuses make, 

Most kind I feel the interest you take ; 

And tho' a pain, 'twill be an useful pain, 

To marshal up my sorrows in one train, 

And view at once the woes, which, one by one, 

Spite of myself, still wake a tear or groan. 

Up from his childhood, my dear boy had shewn 

A genius far above the common tone ; 

And friends and able judges bade me hope 

The best and brightest, would I give it scope. 

So, at the appointed time, he went away 

To college. Oh ! can I forget the day 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 223 

When the last treasure of my heart I gave 
Trembling*, misgiving, to the world's wild wave. 
I clomb yon cone-like eminence— thence pale 
And heartsick, watch'd his journey down the dale ; 
Methought it was his slow-pac'd funeral mov'd, 
And bore away for ever all I lov'd : 
And when he pass'd behind yon jutting steep, 
Which seems a centiuel the vale to keep, 
Return'd, alone and desolate, to weep. 
But letters, full of hope, and fraught with joy, 
That sooth'd all care, soon reach'd me from my boy ', 
And each succeeding was more joyous still, 
And spake of views — which God forbade to fill. 
And others came from hands which held the sway 
In those fam'd seats of learning at that day 5 
They spake of friends acquir'd, and prizes won, 
And doughty scholars vanquished by my son. 
Oh ! need I say my heart was cheer'd, and more, 
That pride stepp'd in where all was woe before : 
A mother's pride. And who that has not prov'd 
Can figure how a mother's breast is mov'd 1 
I know 'tis what stern moralists upbraid : 
'Tis sin — for me the penalty is paid. 
And now the time, the joyful time came on, 
Destin'd to bring me back again my son. 
He came ! — the jutting step I saw him turn, 
And hurried down the rock — but not to mourn : 
He came — again I clasp'd him in my arms, 
Forgot all cares, and buried all alarms. 
Some days had pass'd, nor longer I delay'd 
To mark the change which time, tho* short, had made. 



224 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

The childish plumpness of his face was fled, 

Reflection's lines presented in its stead ; 

The boyish laughing eye I only caught 

At intervals, when he could rest from thought. 

But at all other times 'twas calm and grave, 

Or, rous'd, the lightning glance of eagles gave. 

Still was his temper sweet, tho' thought had now 

Chas'd, long indulg'd, the expression from his brow ; 

And that peculiar shape, which stamps mind's seat, 

Was there mature, in every line complete. 

I felt an awe I could not understand, 

Readier to render homage than demand. 

But oh ! the fearful omens that I drew 

When I beheld his cheek's decaying hue ; 

All that spoke health so eloquently, fled, 

Or center'd in two rings of ominous red. 

So rifled, so despoil'd the world had sent, 

Ah, faithless guard ! the treasure I had lent. 

Thus care once more intrussive made her nest, 

With all her horrid brood within my breast ; 

Nor was he now my comrade as before : 

At meals and night 1 saw him, and no more ; 

For all day long upon his books intent 

He sate, within his little study pent : 

Still the same roof rose over us, and this, 

Tho' less than hope, I learn'd to reckon bliss. 

So patiently I waited till the eve, 

My scanty dole of pleasure to receive. 

At eve alone he laid his books aside, 

And then upon some favourite ramble hied, 

(For here he was unchanged, and rambles still 

Were his delight o'er stream, and dale, and hill;) 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 225 

And oft, on his return, would -praise some spot 

That day discover'd in a glen remote. 

'Twas then, at close of day, his books laid by, 

And lit with exercise his cheek and eye, 

His spirits rais'd, all in its former train, 

I felt that I had found my son again. 

But only theu — how oft with earnest prayer 

I counselled him his precious health to spare ; 

And ever this unwearied answer came, 

" The toil is short, the end is wealth and fame." 

Thy wealth and fame, vile world ! say, what are they, 

Compar'd with what their winning takes away 1 

Ah ! who can tell what anxious mothers feel 1 

I watch'd his morning* looks, I watch'd each meal, 

And oft at dead of night from bed I crept, 

Went to his door, and listen'd if he slept. 

And oh ! one night what agony was mine ; 

I heard him cough, and knew the fatal sign : 

The deep and melancholy murmur fell 

Upon my bosom, like his passing-bell. 

O night ! the last of hope, the first of fear, 

And, even now, beyond all dreary, drear ! 

Day after day I urg'd him, when, at last, 

He found himself that life was ebbing fast. 

Surpris'd, as waken' d from a dream, he felt 

His limbs betray him, and their vigour melt - 7 

Languid and listless o'er his books he bent, 

Weary and fainting on his walk he went : 

At last, he said, confessing he was ill, 

V Do with me, dearest mother, as you will." 

From that same hour, invested with full share 

Of power to rule, I took him to my care ; 

Q 



226 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

His little study, souree of all my pains 

And fears, I lock'd, and lock'd it still remains. 

Nor did he once enquire about his books, 

But gave me all his thoughts, and all his looks : 

I felt that I had gain'd my son once more, 

My comforter, my comrade, as before. 

O God ! the short-liv'd joy but served to throw 

More bitterness amid my cup of woe : 

For, tho' I tended all a mother's care, 

All human aid, — had Heaven agreed to spare ; 

And tho' he would not let a look betray, 

Yet did he waste and linger, day by day ; 

And, slowly as a snow-wreath, melt away. 

But when at last he found concealment vain, 

For all announc'd the approaching end too plain, 

Oh ! o'er his wasted figure as I hung, 

God seem'd to gift him with an angel's tongue ; 

And planted powers of persuasion there, 

That might have sooth'd, if aught could soothe, despair. 

Thus, for three months — but oh ! excuse the rest, 

For crowding memory suffocates my breast. 

The look, the voice, to life's extremest goal 

Beaming and preaching comfort to my soul- — 

Preach comfort to these rocks ! — Almighty God, 

Where do I run ? — forgive — I kiss the rod. 

And tho' it long have crush'd me to the dust, 

'Tis but in joy to raise me : — thou art just. 

And thou, his minister, whom he hath led 

In charity, to cheer the Widow's shed ; 

(Still, his chief mercies on the Widow rest, 

As when his Son the weeping Nainite blest.) 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 2%7 

Tho' the recall of things and times endear'd 

Have wak'd old woes, yet, doubt not, I am cheer'd ; 

In all my woes surpassing bliss I find, 

A bosom humbled, and a heart resigu'd. 

And now, my poor boy's study shall unveil 

What still remains unfinish'd of my tale. 

Thus saying, from a drawer a key she took, 

And, gazing on it with a wistful look, 

Then heaving from her breast a pensive sigh, 

That threw the tears in streams into her eye, 

Put it into my hand. I clomb the stair ; 

The rusty lock, recoiling, gave ajar ; 

And at the sound, barking and mad with joy, 

With ears wild- waving, and with sparkling eye, 

A little spaniel bounded to the door, 

Unnotic'd, it had lain so still, before. 

Then suddenly, outbursting from below, 

I heard the Widow's sobs, and moans of woe ; 

It was her dear boy's favorite, his pride, 

By day, by night, for ever at his side, — 

Its head upon his bosom when he died. 

With joyous cry into the room it sped, 

And leap'd upon a little rushy bed, 

Its ancient seat, for there, the live-long day, 

Fast by its dear-lov'd master's side it lay ; 

And when the hour of exercise drew nigh, 

Kept gazing at him with a watchful eye, 

Mark'd every motion, view'd the closing book, 

The pen laid down, with an impatient look : 

Then when he rose, with bark and frantic play, 

Danc'd round his feet, and rushing led the way. 



228 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

His books lay open, papers strewn around 

On chairs, or loosely scatter'd on the ground, 

Tokening unfinish'd study, seem'd to woo 

Their weary master to his toils anew. 

A curtain clos'd the window, not that aught 

Of novelty could pass to scatter thought, 

But there the sun-tipp'd rocks, and glowing tarn, 

Plac'd full in view, would make his bosom yearn, 

Bear eyes and mind from sterner toils away, 

'Mid scenes, forbidden at that hour to stray. 

A frock, that seem'd for mountain toils ordain'd, 

Whose pockets pencil, books, and flute contain'd, 

Lay on a chair-back indolently slung, 

As but that moment from his shoulder flung. 

Unconsciously upon the chair I sate, 

The lingering habitant's return to wait ; 

Then, starting, as from a deep trance, awoke, 

And sighing left, and turn'd the chamber's lock. 

With promises again to seek her dell, 

I bade the Widow and her rocks farewell. 

By her direction down a pass defil'd, 

The favorite haunt, she told me, of her child. 

A foamy torrent down its rocky length 

Pour'd from the tarn, rejoicing in its strength. 

Just half-way down the rocky sides withdrew, 

And gave an amphitheatre to view ; 

And up the steep ascent, by just degrees, 

Rose, like a circling audience, stately trees ; 

All smoothest turf beneath, that to the edge 

Of the stream's chasm shot forth a verdant ledge : 

Hence to the west, and far beneath, was spied 

The long-drawn vale ; beyond, the ocean's tide. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 229 

And to this spot the dying youth each day 

Was carried, and here he breath'd his last away. 

'Twas just as suuset drest the vale, the sea, 

The cliffs, in his most costly imagery, 

Costly as the last feast we set before 

The friend whom fate forbids to meet with more. 

A wistful look he threw around, and sigh'd, 

And look'd again — and in that look he died. 

Hallow'd by such event, the banky sod 

Is with a superstitious reverence trod. 

'Tis call'd, " The scholar's dingle," and my feet 

Have often hasted to its turfy seat, 

And oft in lonely reverie, as I pore, 

I fancy, rising 'mid the torrent's roar, 

The voice of the poor youth, and with a sigh 

Think, were he now alive, how blest were I. 

Blest in my solitude a friend to find, 

Alike in age, in rank, pursuits, and mind. 

Yet such refin'd communion had, I fear, 

Sustain'd my mind above my duty's sphere. 

For God, when first he call'd me to his cure, 

Gave me in charge the ignorant and poor, 

Bade me with them, in pattern of his Son, 

Strike every chord of mind in unison. 

Therefore his will be done, and thus I quell 

Each murmur, and thus bid each bootless wish farewell. 



230 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

THE PENSIONERS OF THE FAMILY. 

There is one duty which is an especial object 
with every church, that of administering to the 
sick and needy ; and in every age its holy gate 
has been crowded by the orphan and the widows- 
awaiting their daily dole of support and com- 
fort from the hands of the sacred household, Of 
course, every family which God hath blessed 
with the means, must, in this instance, follow 
the example of its great model, and, in order to 
pursue it with due effect, must have laid down 
a certain plan, for nothing requires due order 
and consideration so much as the effectual dis- 
tribution of charity. Resources must be care- 
fully provided, objects properly selected, oppor- 
tunities diligently arrested : so that it demands 
the apparently contrasted talents of economy 



THE RECTORY OF TALEHEAD. 231 

and liberality, of caution and promptitude, of 
stern denial and ready acquiescence. I was 
therefore curious to know how the Rector, with 
whom the close relation of a family to a church 
was so fundamental a notion, regulated this 
important duty. An opportunity soon offered 
itself of obtaining the desired information. 

I had lately given up much of my time to 
visiting an aged bedridden parishioner, whose 
cottage stood in a remote part of the parish. 
One day, my friend accompanied me for the 
sake of the walk, which was of a character 
highly picturesque. I left him walking up and 
down in a pathway, in front of the cottage, 
while I entered, and went up stairs ; the bed 
was close to the window, so that the old man 
could amuse himself by looking out upon the 
fields, which he had long ceased to tread, and 
seeing passengers go by, whom, on that occa- 
sion only, he could see. As I was sitting and 
talking with him at his bed-side, he happened, 
during a short pause, to look through his 
window. I was much surprised to see him 
suddenly shrink back in fright and astonishment, 
and then return to gaze with intense eagerness 
and extreme agitation. It must be the old 
Rector's spirit, he muttered half to me, half to 



232 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

himself. I looked out, and there saw my friend 
in full view of the window. As I had often 
heard it observed by old people that he had 
grown into a strong resemblance of his father, 
the sick man's agitation was immediately ex- 
plained 5 in a short time, I persuaded him of the 
truth, and, at his earnest request, went and 
brought my friend up stairs — a scene ensued, 
which I shall not attempt to paint. He had 
been, when a lame and sickly boy, one of my 
friend's pensioners, to explain which term, I 
shall employ his own words as nearly as my 
memory can serve me. 

As well to ensure regularity of distribution, 
as to imbue his children with due sympathy for 
their less fortunate brethren, my father used to 
divide the numerous pensioners upon his bounty 
into two portions, one of which he set apart for 
his own personal attention, the other he dis- 
tributed among his children — the males to the 
boys, the females to the girls ; thus, each of us 
had sometimes as many as five or six on his 
hands at the same time. To these we dis- 
tributed at the door from a stock made up 
among ourselves, or went on messages from my 
father, of love and charity ; so that we were his 
censer-boys, and flang far and wide the odour of 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 233 

his bounty. And he, like the grand model of 
Christian imitation, sent forth in our persons 
his apostles and disciples, to administer under 
his master's blessing to the healing of the sick, 
and comforting of the afflicted. Scrip and 
purse, indeed, we bore, and gold and silver, but 
not for ourselves 5 nor went we as sheep among 
wolves, but were every where caressed with the 
kindest attentions. "Ah! God bless you, young 
master, and all your family, and long keep your 
father among us!" was a salutation familiar to 
me from the mouths of the peasantry, as they 
met me on my path with my basket in hand, 
which revealed the purpose on which I was 
bent 3 and many a blessing have I received on 
my childish head, from a death-bed. A melan- 
choly employment this, you will here say, for a 
lively boy. I did not, however, find it so : at 
least, the pleasure infinitely outweighed the 
pain. It gave me the means of satisfying the 
curiosity and eagerness peculiar to my years, 
excited my interest in the highest degree, so 
that I needed no story-book to stir up my 
drowsy imagination, and give healthy exercise 
to the tender feelings of the heart. With what 
delight and interest have I watched the reviving 
health of the person assigned for my visits, with 



234 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

perhaps a lurking satisfaction of it being due in 
some measure to myself. How joyous have I 
felt, when I went as the messenger of good 
news from my father to some poor downcast of 
need and sorrow. Oh ! it was anticipating on 
earth the blissful and glorious privilege of the 
angels in heaven. Man cannot learn at too 
early a period what sorrow is, and acknowledge 
that it is his due, so that, knowing its nature, and 
seeing that it is inevitable, he may prepare for 
his day of trial, and, at the same time, belaying 
up a remedy against it, by being ever prompt to 
render that assistance which he may one day 
need himself. But, alas ! how few are the op- 
portunities afforded to the youthful inmates of 
an affluent home, of obtaining this knowledge, 
how diligently, should I not rather say, are they 
excluded. They accordingly, can scarcely be- 
lieve, even when they hear, the accounts of the 
wide extent of misery amid which their happy 
ark of home is floating ; they think them exag- 
gerated, and shut up their heart without further 
inquiry. Many an opportunity, however, had 
we. Ample experience taught us the force of 
the expression, " all sorts and conditions of men." 
Almost daily we sallied forth from a happy home 
to scenes of distress 5 from a paradise, as it were, 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 235 

where every thing was supplied, unbidden, to 
hand, we went forth to the earth, put under the 
curse of labour and sorrow. We saw plainly, 
and acknowledged freely, our common lot. 
Thus my father kept us clear of that speculative 
benevolence which shrinks from practice, and 
corrupts the heart by an ill-grounded vanity : 
thus he saved us from the sad results of an 
imagination, which, surrounded by scenes of 
luxurious tranquillity, has recourse to the specu- 
lative contemplation of the reverse, in order to 
enjoy that pleasure, which the poet says we 
experience on beholding from land a storm 
raging at sea 3 full sorry would such spectators 
be to engage in that storm, and stretch forth a 
hand to the shipwrecked sufferers. O, my friend, 
you yourself well know how much, how very 
much is to be learned from conversation with 
the poor; learning the conditions of our nature 
from them and from the rich, is the same thing 
as drawing precepts from practice and from 
books. To see punishment following sin, put 
aside the many delays formed by wealth and 
influence, all the stays which break the sinner's 
fall, and let him gradually down 3 put these 
aside, and go to the poor. See, there, intem- 
perance, sickness, want, following each other, 



236 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

without a single stage between. O, among the 
poor, justice is poetical indeed ! To see real 
sickness, put aside all its artificial consolations, 
set a pallet for a bed, patience for palliatives, 
a family starving, from the sick man's inter- 
mission of work, in whose ghastly faces he may 
count the weary days of his illness, and which 
salute him more ghastly each succeeding day ; 
set this for a family which brings every morning 
smiles on their ruddy countenances to cheer 
him. On one point, indeed, I have observed 
that the poor man has ample conpensation. 
Look at his death-bed — he has nothing to lose, 
and all to gain, and therefore quits life with 
a resignation seldom seen among his richer 
brethren. 

My father used to remark that none can ex- 
perience the full rights and advantages of Chris- 
tian citizenship, unless he maintain the relations 
which connect him with the ranks both above 
and below. To cultivate the knowledge of 
those above, requires little encouragement. The 
whole world cheers us on. But, to be properly 
acquainted with those below, requires no or- 
dinary urging. Christ only is our encourager 
here 5 here lies our trial, and here our grand 
reward. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 237 

In the excercise of these goodly offices I con- 
tinued to the last, even up to the very day on 
which I left home, never to see it again, (for I 
cannot call this desolate house home,) and not 
less by choice than by obedience to my father's 
pleasure. A strange education, methinks, I hear 
you suggest, for a soldier : much more adapted 
for a priest. But allow me to reply, that the 
qualities which form the good soldier and the 
good priest, are much more nearly allied than 
the world is commonly disposed to think. One 
is in the flesh what the other is in the spirit : 
and the vigilance, the fortitude, the seizure of 
opportunities, the adaptation to circumstances, 
the winning of men's hearts, and the tongue of 
persuasion, which all will agree to be necessary 
to the perfect priest, few will assuredly deny to 
be as necessary to the accomplished soldier. 
For my own part, I can say with confidence, that 
I have felt this to have been the most valuable 
portion of my whole education, as a soldier. I 
learnt my best weapons in the house of peace. 
I thus became acquainted with the human heart, 
I could enter into the thoughts and feelings of 
rude uneducated men, I was acquainted with 
numberless little attentions and ways of winning 
good will, which is too late to learn after the 



238 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

attainment of manhood, when the observation 
is not sufficiently curious or minute so as to 
discern them, nor temper flexible enough to 
employ. Thus I was instructed to deal with 
inferiors with kindness, and yet with dignity 5 
and the men placed under my command, soon 
discovering my sympathy, were zealous to gra- 
tify me with the strictest obedience. Little, 
indeed, did I think what an important lesson I 
was learning, and on what a theatre I should 
employ its results, when I went out and came 
in as my father's messenger among the poor, 
and that my acquaintance with the hearts of 
Valehead would open to me the bosoms of India. 
Not a single day thus spent in my boyhood was 
lost upon my future profession, and I have 
learned the important result, that the soldier, no 
less than the man of peace, will do well to seek 
first the kingdom of God and his righteousness. 
As we thus conversed, we crossed the green 
of a little hamlet, surrounded by cottages, each 
with its garden of flowers, (always a good sign 
of the inmates within,) and vine or honey- suckle 
creeping over the walls, and hanging down in 
festoons from the chimney top. We stopped a 
moment to look at the cheerful scene. Of every 
one of these habitations, said my friend, I know 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 239 

the interior well, and have a tale connected with 
each. There lived my instructors in the know- 
ledge of the human heart. But where, alas ! are 
they ? Where are those many faces that smiled 
on me as I uplifted the latch, and brought some 
cheering message from my father ? Alas me ! 

I pass unheeded and alone, 

Where never thus I past before ; 
I pass by gates whence friends have gone, 
Who never there shall enter more : 
A stranger's face 
In every place 
I meet, where all were known, and see 
Eyes that ne'er look in turn on me. 

I pass thro' churchyards, snatch a glance 

On names belov'd — all that is left 
Of what did life's each breath enhance, 
And mourn as yesterday bereft« 
The very tomb 
Hath met its doom, 
And slabs, that often gave a seat 
To me and mine, no longer greet. 



240 THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE FAMILY EXCURSION. 

Our church had its joyful days of procession, 
said my friend. In the summer season, we made 
a point of paying at least one visit to the summit 
of yonder mountain, which, rugged and precipi- 
tous as it hence appears, affords upon its sum- 
mit the softest turf, where you may recline 
most luxuriously while you feast your eyes upon 
the vast and varied extent of view which it com- 
mands. One of the days set apart for this pil- 
grimage was the anniversary of the marriage of 
our parents. As soon as the duties of the morn- 
ing were concluded, thither we sallied forth in 
a long troop, exciting, in no small degree, the 
interest and curiosity of the neighbourhood as 
we past. There were several stages at which 
we paused, as at favorite shrines, remarkable 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 241 

for some natural beauty, which we always called 
upon the stranger to admire. Thither I propose 
our walking this day. As I had often intended 
visiting the mountain,, but had hitherto neg- 
lected it as being at any time within my reach, 
I joyfully consented. It was one of those beau- 
tiful days in June, which we owe to a gentle 
S.W. wind, (too often he is our greatest scourge,) 
when the lights are clear and liquid, and the 
shades deep, and continually shifting. We 
paused at all the appointed stages, the last of 
which was a cavern, forming the mouth of an 
old Roman copper mine, and affording a refresh- 
ing shade 5 from its recess the view appeared to 
peculiar advantage, set in a framework of rock 
and ivy. We reached at length the summit, 
guided by a tumbling brook about two- thirds of 
the way up ; the view most amply, indeed, repaid 
the toil, being a delightful mixture of stream, 
dell, and mountain, except in one direction, 
where the long drawn vale extended into a 
plain, and the plain met the horizon with the 
spires and towers of a distant city, indenting 
the sky ; towards those spires, the stream of our 
valley was seen to wind, gleaming brightly to 
the eye, here and there, in long reaches, ever as 



242 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

his capricious course came in a line between the 
eye and the town. 

Do you not think, said my companion, as soon 
as we were seated on the smooth turf, that a 
recreation of this kind was well suited to the 
celebration of the anniversary of our parents' 
marriage, of the day whence all the children 
could date a common birth? Having uppermost 
in our minds an event to which we owed our 
birth into this world of sense, which hence ap- 
pears so beautiful, we enjoyed its beauties with 
a keener relish, and with hearts most thankfully 
lifted up to our glorious and bounteous Maker. 
We turned from the view with increased affec- 
tion to the faces of the blessed instruments of 
his mercy, from whom we had derived its enjoy- 
ment, but, above all, had obtained a place within 
the pale of his gospel. We felt, indeed, brought 
into a land of promise, within and without, in 
soul and in body. It was fitting that we should 
feel, at such a time, peculiarly moved towards 
our conductors. 

My father, than whom no one looked on the face 
of nature with a fonder eye, was always greatly 
excited upon this occasion. After a long and 
silent contemplation of the scene before him, he 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 243 

would point out to us particular spots,, and pour 
forth,, in most eloquent strain, a body of remarks 
calculated to carry our thoughts far beyond the 
forms of varied dust which were before us. 
Some of these suggest themselves to me at this 
moment^ at the review of the scene, and if you 
will not judge of their worth by my poor and 
scanty means of expression, I will venture to 
detail one or two. The lights, as they have this 
moment disposed themselves, bring one imme- 
diately to mind. A bright gleam is resting on 
the knoll where stands the church and manor- 
house, while the rest of the valley being in 
shade, goes to give depth to the black moun- 
tains encircling it 5 they seem effectually to 
guard and fence it in, as it were some sacred 
spot. Even so, my children, doth God protect 
us, and behind those dark rocky walls I can 
imagine all the ills of the world stayed in their 
course, and unable to scale and leap into our 
fold. This is no far-fetched analogy, for in such 
a spirit the divine poet looked upon his beloved 
Jerusalem, and cried out, " The hills stand 
about Jerusalem. Even so standeth the Lord 
round about his people, from this time forth for 
evermore, for the rod of the ungodly cometh 
not into the lot of the righteous." — (Ps. cxxv.2.) 



244 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

But that barrier was burst as soon as what it 
guarded ceased to be holy. Children, let us take 
heed to ourselves. Let us beware lest a spiritual 
Babylon pour her myriads in, and overthrow our 
temple. 

On that same day, (which I have especial 
reasons for remembering since it was to me the 
last of these excursions,) towards evening, the 
sky became overcast 5 the distant hills retired 
from view amid storms, which, shortly after, we 
beheld in full march down the several valleys, 
uniting in that immediately at our feet 5 they 
soon snatched it from our sight, and then beat 
in gusts of wind and masses of clouds against 
our mountain, while a billowy fog, like spray, 
wreathed up the chasms, and advanced in me- 
nacing volumes towards us ; in a few minutes, 
the only spot of earth which we could see was 
the ground on which we stood. We formed a 
ring against the enemy's attack, the females in 
the centre, my father and his boys in front, 
facing the brunt of the storm. We gazed on an 
ocean of clouds beneath us, and seemed like the 
survivors of a deluge 5 to the imagination of all 
present, I believe, was exhibited a lively repre- 
sentation of Noah and his family 5 and the op- 
portunity, you may be sure, was not suffered by 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 245 

my father to escape. See, he said, as he stood 
overtopping us all with his hoary patriarchal 
head, see, children, to what a narrow circle was 
once reduced the church of God, even to a single 
family less numerous than ourselves, and looking 
in sad reality, as we now in appearance, upon a 
deluged world. Such were the fruits of disobe- 
dience. Let us bless his holy name that in our 
days countless families from north and south, 
and east and west, contribute to fill up the wide 
extent of that glorious society. So far from 
having the melancholy satisfaction of being sole 
survivors, we are conscious of thousands whom 
we know not in the flesh, working together 
with us in the spirit, as certainly as we feel 
assured that behind the veil of those clouds 
hearts are beating in the vale beneath, though 
the sigh of man and man's works be denied us. 
And when we descend from our mountain, it 
will not be with us as with them from Ararat, 
who came down upon a lifeless world, and amid 
monuments of God's wrath 3 but we shall meet 
again with friendly and familiar faces, enter amid 
the crowd of God's visible blessings, and par- 
taking with our neighbours of his mercies, join 
with them also in his praises. 

On another occasion he would dwell upon 



246 THE RECTOR Y OF VALEHEAD. 

the landscape, as upon a page of history un- 
folded before us -, it was a page written, indeed, 
in living characters, for the whole field of view 
was studded with monuments of days gone 
by, from the (< old poetic mountain," espied but 
in clear weather, and peeping into our world 
through a narrow nick in the bounding moun- 
tain chain, to the massy piles of rock at our 
feet : to all he could affix some interesting anec- 
dote, and studied to impress upon our hearts 
the blessedness of the times in which God had 
placed us, and make us lift them up in thank- 
fulness for such great benefits, civil and reli- 
gious. He would point out, and lead us through 
the progress of civilization, beginning with the 
grassy triple and circular mound of the Abori- 
ginal, on the neighbouring summit, and, passing 
through the ruined feudal castle on the slope 
beneath, end with the historic town seen on the 
verge of the horizon. And, similarly, he would 
conduct us from the darkest superstition to the 
brightness of our undefiled religion, by direct- 
ing our eye in succession to the Druid's circle 
standing in the solitude of the mountain pas- 
ture, then to the ivy- mantled abbey in the glen 
beside the stream below, and, lastly, to our 
plain and simple village church, crowning the 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 247 

sunny knoll. Never were forgotten the lessons 
which we learned on this joyous day ; they fell 
on a soil well prepared, by every circumstance 
of the occasion, to receive them. But I will 
not at present overwhelm you with more of my 
recollections -, I have detailed sufficient to shew 
you how my father turned every little incident 
to account, and rendered even these excursions 
of pleasure a kind of holy pilgrimage. 

Often, too, have I rambled here alone, and 
spent hours upon this peak in that species of 
reverie in which the mind almost passively 
suffers the entrance of the vast flood of ideas 
which is pouring in from all the objects around. 
These, in due time, when the fermentation 
which their assemblage produces is over, assume 
speciality and place, become regular components 
of our frame of mind, and thus we go on, un- 
consciously, from wealth to wealth. I have 
found a kind of sketch-book, evidently thus 
formed by one of my brothers. It registers the 
principal ideas which he derived from any par- 
ticular spot. They are entered in verse, as may 
be expected : that being by far the best, if not 
the only means of making out a clear and pithy 
summary of the mind's thoughts at any moment* 
(I will append some extracts to this Chapter.) 



248 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

We staid talking and lingering on the summit 
of the mountain, and were overtaken by night 
through being unable to quit the sight of a 
magnificent sunset. A portion of the mountain- 
ous circle seemed dissolved into transparent 
rosy-coloured air, then seemed to recover sub- 
stance, and glowed like molten iron 5 then it 
appeared gradually to cool, going through the 
successive shades of violet, purple, and indigo. 
At length, it became a black mass, when the 
evening star, assuming her full brightness, 
warned us to take advantage of her scanty light 
to hurry down the hill. 



I. 
THE STORM. 

Oft 011 this headland's lordly brow 
My prime delight hath been to sit, 

And watch the storm in march below 
Across the varied landscape flit ; 

And as each favorite hill or dell 

In gleam arose, in shadow fell, 
I have moralis'd the view, 

And "thus," have said, " upon the world, 

Is joy diffus'd, or sorrow hurl'd : 
It is our nature's due. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 249 

" Thus on life's shifting scene I pore, 
Round friendship's circle watch it go ; 

See this, in fortune's sunshine soar ; 
That, sink from sight in shades of woe, 

Impassive at my central seat.' 5 

Thus as I mus'd, the stormy sleet 
Pour'd bursting on my head : 

O'erwhelming darkness clos'd me in, 

Winds roar'd around with deafening din, 
Sun, hill, and dale were fled. 

It ceas'd at length, and as it past, 

A voice in still small accents swell'd 
On the last sighings of the blast, 

And forth this solemn counsel held : 
" Poor mortal ! dost thou deem to gaze 
At ease upon life's chequer'd ways 1 — 

Know : unchastis'd to learn 
Is given to naught that breathes below, 
As now this shower, the shower of woe 
Must wrap thee in thy turn. 

" Yet, faint not: when the shower is sped 

With fresher life, see nature heave, 
So thou uplift thy dripping head, 

And read and trust the pledge I leave, 
I rais'd my head: no cloud appear'd, 
Aloft the kingly sun career'd 

Thro' fields of deepest blue ; 
Unveil'd in light each mountain stood, 
Replenish'd glanc'd each sparkling flood ; 
Time prov'd the pledge was true*'* 



250 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

II. 

THE ASCENT. 

Shrouded in mist our valley lay, 
When to yon brow I bent my way, 
And, led by faltering step and grope, 
I trod at length his rising slope ; 
Then suddenly emerg'd and free, 
With head above that misty sea, 
I stood : the fleecy cloud still prest 
Its wreathed billows round my breast. 
Then towering o'er my head on high, 
In all the pride of clear blue sky, 
W T ith all the tints of sunrise beaming, 
Here dewy rocks like mirrors gleaming, 
There glens in dark-blue shadows lying, 
Which hasty night had left in flying, 
The peak his rugged front uprear'd, 
And o'er the hoary ocean peer'd. 
Like shipwreck'd mariner I stood, 
Whom, borne all night on ocean's flood, 
Morn brings beneath some towering shore, 
His head the surge scarce peering o'er, 
When now his numbed fingers clasp 
The saving plank with feeble grasp. 
Refulgent scene ! it pictur'd well 
W r hat my mind's pilgrimage befell, 
W T hen doubt's uncomfortable cloud, 
That penn'd me long in chilly shroud, 
Roll'd its imprisoning fleece away, 
And on me burst the mental day. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 251 

thrilling' triumph ! to behold 
Error's dark mists beneath us roll'd, 
Truth's adamantine cape on high 
Up-pointing to the promis'd sky, 
And, drest in all its radiance clear, 
Fixing our sight and bosom there. 
Refulgent scene ! and well it shew'd 
To saints the goal of sorrow's road, 
When drizzly chill, with touch unblest, 
Hath struck the heart, congeal'd the breast : 
From every sight around him driven, 

The sufferer lifts his head to heaven ; 
He starts in extasied surprise — 
There, soaring in the cloudless skies, 
Faith's rock in dazzling glory glows, 
And gathers every beam that flows 
From the immortal fount above, 
The sun of righteousness and love. 
Emblem of faith, of truth ! Oh yet 
Another object thou dost set, 
Bright rock ! before this mental eye : 
Oh ! when thy radiant brow I spy 
Beaming above my rising head, 
While clouds around my breast are spread. 

1 think of that triumphant day, 
When, earth's dim curtain roll'd away, 
Heaven's gates shall burst upon the sight, 
And all be knowledge, bliss, and light. 
Emblem of faith, of truth, of heaven ! 
When on the world's rude ocean driven, 
I'll think of thee, and thou shalt teach 
Thy bright realities to reach. 



252 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 
III. 

THE HILL-TOP. 

'Twas dawn's deep silence, and I stood 

On Breddin's domineering brow : 
I gaz'd j — but, spread like ocean's flood, 

Mist rested upon all below. 
On to the horizon's mottled zone, 
Uncurl'd, the snowlike surface shone, 

And, studded here and there, 
Like isles o'er glittering* ocean spread, 
The mountain peaks uprear'd their head, 
And gloried in mid air. 

The sun his ruddy disk at length 

Upheav'd above that hoary veil, 
And from the eastern gate, all strength, 
Outrush'd the winged morning gale ; 
And soou in billowy wreaths ascending, 
Earth, sky, in dim confusion blending, 

The sleepy ocean woke, 
Rav'd up the mountain at my feet, 
And, o'er his isles, with drizzly sheet 
Unpiteously broke. 

But, seen amid the rude commotion, 
A rainbow's circlet, dewy bright, 

Sate on the bosom of the ocean, 
Blest prelude to returning light. 

Slowly at length in air disperst 

LTpdrew the veil; unprison'd burst 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 253 

The glory from below : 
Bound with the welkin's azure girth, 
All gladness, re-appearing earth, 

Laugh'd with a gemmy glow. 

My soul the inspiration caught, 

And drank it to its inmost cell ; 
Gaz'd not some angel thus, methought, 

From spirit's crystal citadel, 
And seeking in this deep abyss 
The future partner of his bliss, 

Cast longing looks in vain. 
They rested on the still expanse 
Of doubt, of fear, of ignorance, 
Of crime, of care, of pain. 

But Oh ! what throngs of seraphim 

Crowded the heights of bliss that day, 
When pour'd upon the curtain dim 

Our sun of life with wakening ray. 
How rang Ho saunas as'it broke 
Dispers'd beneath his fiery stroke — 

Alas ! in war, in blood, 
In tumult wild it broke ; amid 
His work the sun himself seem'd hid, 

Extinct his golden flood. 

But deafening rose the hymn, when all 

The promis'd view so long denied 
Burst from beneath the rended pall ; 

And outspread lay in all its pride, 



254 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 

With all its bowers of bliss bright beaming', 
With all its streams of life far gleaming, 

Recover'd Paradise. 
" How goodly are your tents, how fair 
Your mansions ! hail, heaven's choicest care ! 

Hail, partner of the skies!" 



IV. 
THE REVIEW. 

I sat on Berwyn's lofty crest, 

And thence the extended path survey 'd 
O'er which my busy foot had prest 

From morning's sun to evening's shade ; 
And deeper, as I ponder'd, grew 
My thoughts upon that long review. 

Oh ! could I thus explore, 
I cried, that weary pilgrimage 
Which I must press from youth to age, 
Thus gaze its windings o'er. 

Yon flowery meadows far away, 

Where shines the sun with vigorous beam, 
Where rivers in long mazes stray, 

And trees o'ershade the gentle stream, 
There runs a path prest hours ago ; 
The morn and I were fresh in glow. 

Oh ! when I there look back, 
I think of days far, far remote, 
On which fond memory loves to doat, 
'Tis childhood's flowery track. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 255 

Yon sultry hill, whose blooming side 
With gaudy furze and heath is drest, 

Up which with straining- strength I hied, 
Eager to win his towery crest ; 

And still before my cheated eyes, 

Saw summit before summit rise, 
Yet gloried as they rose ; 

Still forward kept my eager face, 

Scorn'd all behind — behold the race 
Where youth careering goes. 

Yon level ridge, on either hand, 

Which cliffs as towery walls sustain, 

Where the excursive eyes command 
All left behind, and gaze with pain : 

But softer comes the river's roar, 

And sounds that shook the ear before, 
And wider roams the eye, 

And vales, like distant worlds, to sight 

Emerge in shifting shade and light : 
There manhood's pathways lie. 

And now the topmost ridge is won, 

And gently rising' to the peak 
Ascends my path ; but desert stone 

Is all around, all bare and bleak : 
And oft, and often I look back, 
And gaze upon my former track, 
Regret each finish'd stage; 
Sharp blows the wind, my moisten 'd eye 
Is dull, thick clouds are floating by : 
Behold the track of age. 



256 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

And now the sun is set, and night 

O'er all my path's extent is spread. 
I look behind, and see ! his light 

Along the western vale is shed ; 
And thither I descend. — Adieu, 
Valley and paths ! ye fade from view. 

Oh ! thus reliev'd from care, 

Thus calm may I quit life's last verge, 

E'en thus my journey downward urge, 

To meet fresh glories there. 



V. 

THE BROOK. 

Yet once again, beloved stream, 
I stand within thy bathing spray ; 

Yet once again, blest glen, I dream 
In thy deep gloom the hours away. 

How different from the dreams of yore, 
Ere joy was mated with its bane ; 

Ere Time had open'd all his store 
Of scenes, of years, of woe, of pain. 

Yea i I am chang'd, not thou ; for still 
Thy giant oak o'ershades my head : 

Thy massy slab I press, and fill 

My palm from thy translucent bed. 

Yet let me dream these scenes again, 
When last I press'd this lichen' d stone ; 

Oh! how they course my hurried brain, 
Appear, pain, gladden, and are gone. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 257 

Around from well-known rock and tree, 

Faces to touch of memory start ; 
The wild is peopled !— join'd I see 

Whom years, and earth, and ocean part. 



Now words I hear, which long ago 
Here died amid the sighing wind ; 

And smiles and laughter round me flow, 
Long parted from their native mind. 



And, broken now my trance, I mourn, 
And try to conjure up anew ; 

Then weep for what shall ne'er return, 
And long for what I ne'er must view. 



But, hark ! proclaiming from yon wood 
A solemn voice in accents clear, — 

" Poor mortal, cease thy fretful mood, 

Nor seek lost friends, past moments here : 

" Far other friends my works suggest, 

Far other times and seasons tell ; 
My prophets ! they instruct thy breast 

With bright futurity to swell. 

"Of me they tell, my hand portend 

Which laid their piles, their colours strew'd ; 

Of me, the everlasting friend 

In youth, age, crowd, and solitude ; 

s 



258 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

" Whom years, and earth, and ocean's tide 
From my blest comrade cannot sever ; 

Whose words once heard for ay abide, 
Whose smiles around thee flow for ever.'* 



VI. 
THE RAINBOW. 

Striding athwart yon gloomy mass, 

Which clouds in clouds inwreath'd up-pile, 

How bright the rainbow's colours pass, 
And force the angry heavens to smile ; 

And where its radiant feet repose 

On earth, a liquid glory glows 
Around the heavenly guest : 

Link'd by the gemlike bridge, this earth 

Seem'd join'd to heaven, as at its birth. 
Ere sin the bond supprest. 

Enrapt I view the dazzling scene, 

And, as the vivid colours start, 
Fits of reflection come between 

Each gaze, and rouse my listless heart. 
Fond gazer ! beauteous as they shine, 
To thee, those colours are a sign 

Of sorrow and of care ; 
Now, on some houseless wanderer, beat 
The drenching rain, the piercing sleet, 
And wring the wretch's prayer. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 259 

Oh ! therefore, all indulgent Heaven, 
Grant me, with trembling and with awe, 

To use each earthly blessing given, 
And, using, own thy wisdom's law ; 

Own that each j oy I feel or know 

Is partner to another's woe : 
I laugh amid lament ; 

And, as time's restless wheel goes round, 

My turn for sorrow must be found, 
My hour of trial sent, 

Oh ! when thou givest, give, I pray, 

A heart awake to future ill ; 
And when thou takest, take away 

Each feeling rebel to thy will. 
Humble in wealth, for wealth will fly, 
Patient in woe, for woe will die, 

To every lot resign'd : 
So let me view life's gleamy scene, 
And happy hours, with bow serene, 
Still warn of woe behind. 



c 26'0 THE RECTORY OF VALEIIEAD. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

THE SERVANTS OF THE FAMILY. 

On a beautiful evening in the month of August, 
I accompanied my friend in one of his long ram- 
bles. Having threaded a winding glen, whose 
furious stream we were obliged several times to 
cross, we arrived at a green basin among the 
mountains. In its centre stood a cluster of 
cottages, the roofs of which, of large rude slabs 
projecting far beyond the walls, gave plain evi- 
dence of the inhospitality of the climate. As 
our object was to find a short cut across the 
mountains, and pass the topmost ridge before 
sunset, (for thenceforward the country was well 
known to us,) we approached to inquire our way. 
As we drew near, we heard a voice proceeding 
from one of them, the door of which stood open 
before us. On drawing still nearer, and listening, 
we found that it was the voice of one reading. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 261 

Shortly after, it assumed the tone of prayer 5 
and, as soon as I could distinguish the words, I 
clearly recognised the domestic liturgy of the 
Rectory. We immediately and instinctively 
kneeled down as near as we could, without at- 
tracting notice and causing disturbance 3 the 
conclusion was made by the family hymn, which 
I have already presented to the reader 5 and 
wonderful indeed was its effect upon us, as it 
carne forth now from a deep, firm, and single 
voice, now from a chorus of trebles, while an 
echo from the rocks, heard at each pause, seemed 
to proclaim that the wild and solitary places 
were glad also. I cannot describe the agitation 
of my friend, nor attempt to pourtray the scene 
which followed ; for in the father of this family 
we found the son of the old gardener of the 
Rectory, to which service he had himself suc- 
ceeded during the latter years of the Rector's 
life. It was with difficulty that we tore ourselves 
from the spot. On resuming our way, my friend 
continued long silent. At last, we reached the 
summit of the ridge, just as the sun was making 
his plunge beneath the horizon. Before we trod 
the first downward step, he cast an earnest look 
at the cottager's dell whence we had emerged, 
and then began. 



262 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Now, said he, I feel once again in a strange 
land. I am as one who, having most unexpect- 
edly discovered in a foreign soil a colony of his 
mother country, with her rites, language, and 
countenances, is obliged to quit it soon as found, 
and to resume his melancholy exile. How many- 
things then strike his notice to which familiarity 
had formerly blinded him. I could pass day after 
day among the inhabitants of that dell, and am 
determined to revisit it before long 3 even already 
many faded traces have been revived in my me- 
mory, and I have a more comprehensive view of 
my father's plan than I had before. That sim- 
ple service, which we have been just witnessing, 
came over me like a fine fragrance left behind by 
my father's good deeds and works of love. For 
imagine not that his children were the sole ob- 
jects of his domestic care and instruction. He 
regarded his servants as no less committed to 
his charge, as not less important pensioners upon 
his responsibility. Well he judged, and well he 
was rewarded. I am convinced that the most 
careful and fastidious education of children must 
be very much influenced by the characters of the 
servants. It is impossible that they should not 
be very much in each the other's company. And, 
besides the services by which the servants en- 



THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 263 

gage the affections of the child, their minds are 
much more upon a level with his. They are but 
a species of grown-up children. Hence he finds 
there a sympathy which he seeks in vain in the 
refined and cultivated mind of his parent. There 
he meets with his own curiosity, minuteness of 
observation, love of detail, eagerness of won- 
ders, simplicity of thought, and plainness of 
expression, which win his confidence and attach- 
ment, at the same time that their comparatively 
great experience and their bodily advantages 
exact a deference. Let the scholar and the rus- 
tic tell a story to a child. The former will soon 
be obliged to yield the palm to his less accom- 
plished rival. Hence the child is continually 
imbibing the servant's notions, and hangs upon 
his lips. It gives us a glorious idea of God's 
economy when we find the care or neglect of 
the minds of our servants rewarded or visited in 
the minds of our children, and are aware that 
not only what we have ourselves sown in the 
one we shall reap in the other, but also what we 
have allowed the great enemy to sow in the one 
w T e shall also reap in the other. The servant, in 
many respects, forms a most important medium 
between the parent and child, delivering to it, in 
a form suited to its capacities, (to which the 



264 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

parent, more especially the father, often finds it 
most difficult to descend,) what he has received 
in a form adapted to riper years. And, as the 
food which the mother eats is of too strong and 
stimulating a nature to be given immediately to 
her infant offspring, but in her breasts becomes 
wholesome milk, so passes the father's know- 
ledge through the bosom of a faithful and pious 
servant to his child, coming to him thus in a 
form more suitable to his young faculties. 
Great, therefore, was my father's concern upon 
the right instruction of his servants, and great 
I acknowledge to have been the good which I 
have received from him in this indirect manner. 
From our old gardener we received, perhaps, 
the best portion of this indirectly transmitted 
knowledge. As we stood by, and watched with 
childish curiosity his various operations, and 
beset him with inquiries, as he sowed the seed, 
planted the root, pruned the bough, or dug and 
turned up the worm, while the sound of his spade 
brought the robins to him, birds to which, in 
children's minds, a kind of sacredness is at- 
tached, he had always some moral or religious 
application ready, which came pithily to our un- 
derstandings and impressively upon our hearts. 
Oftentimes, too, on these occasions he would, 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 265 

half in the way of obtaining information, which 
he supposed we might have received from our 
father, half in the way of instruction, examine 
us in our knowledge, and betrayed, I remember, 
amid all his authority, an impression that we 
were to be, in no long time, vastly his superiors 
upon that head. In fact, he treated us much in 
the same way as our great house-dog had done 
when we were younger still, who, while he 
would playfully throw us down, turn us over 
with his nose, lay his immense paw upon us, or 
take our hands or legs between his fearful rows 
of teeth, yet in all plainly discovered, by a pecu- 
liar manner, how well aware he was that he 
was dealing with future masters. I shall always 
think it a good sign of a child to be fond of the 
gardener, if at least he be such as ours was. 
That servant's occupation is in a spot which 
excites good feelings, and is consecrated by 
Scripture, is about a work interesting from its 
very nature, and associated also with God's word 5 
it encounters the child seldom in his hours of 
fretful caprice and bustle, but rather of con- 
tentment and calm, produced by the beautiful 
variety of its inhabitants. What a treasure then 
for a parent to have in such a place a minister, 
as it were, (and not to be despised for his home- 



266 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

liness,) ready to take advantage of this frame 
of mind, to apply the many interesting incidents 
and objects there occurring, and pour into the 
child's ear the knowledge of God. Much did 
I draw from him which I might in vain have 
sought from the wisdom of the philosopher, 
whose abstruse, unpractical speculations, and 
vague language, I would gladly even now ex- 
change for the compression of thought, the 
natural sentiments, the simplicity and yet depth 
of feeling, and the liquid clearness of expression 
peculiar to the rightly instructed rustic. 

My father threw a certain dignity around the 
character of our servants, by making us consider 
them as ministers of God's comforts, as attend- 
ants on the wants which his bounty satisfied. 
And while he bade us think with gratitude and 
love upon their faithful attention and watchful 
observance, he directed us to the inestimable 
love and the unwearied care of him who took 
upon himself the form of a servant, waited in 
all humility upon his disciples, became the 
minister to our spiritual wants, and wrought 
the work of our redemption. Associated thus 
in our minds, our servants, you may suppose, 
were treated with meekness, gentleness, and 
forbearance, as fellow-servants of our heavenly 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 26? 

Master, and with respect and kindness as re- 
presentatives of our continual protector, and 
ministers of his bounty. We gathered, too, 
from their services to us what we also owed to 
him 5 and while the duties of the nurse repre- 
sented in the most affecting manner his love 
and care, the faithful hoary-headed steward put 
us in mind of our responsibility. Thus the very- 
help and comfort which we derived from them 
was continually instructive • for their fidelity 
and alacrity was often a rebuke, always a spur, 
to us in our duty towards our eternal Master, 
who, by so kind and delightful a medium, was 
pleased to remind us every day of himself : there 
was a continual action and re-action going on : 
the more their services prompted us to think of 
our own due to our Master in heaven, the more 
considerate and meek became our conduct to 
them, and again, in return, the more ardent 
their zeal and faithfulness towards us. Thus 
there was no jealous and exacting authority on 
the one side, nor eye service and dishonest sub- 
terfuge on the other. We were associated by 
the most blessed of bonds, all their spiritual 
knowledge was derived at our hands, they 
shared with us morn and eve in the banquet of 
God's daily heavenly bread, which he bestows 



268 THE RECTORY OF VALE HEAD. 

in prayerj we all formed one family, and much 
resembled in constitution those nations in which 
the people look up for government to an here- 
ditary priesthood, whom they reverence and 
love. They were a willing people, and we, I 
trust, a meek priesthood. 

With these words, we reached his door, which 
was opened by an old domestic, who had served 
under him in India. The sight of him brought 
vividly to my mind all that my friend had been 
dwelling upon, for what I had seen of them both 
completely confirmed the doctrine which he had 
been laying down. 

I. 
THE DISCOVERY. 

'Twas lovely June's departing* day, 

Still, silent as a dream, 
At feverish noon all nature lay, 
And scarce the kestryl cross'd my way 

With wild discordant scream. 

From morn, along a torrent's bed, 

To eve my feet had run ; 
And now I stood where overhead 
Gigantic hills deep shadow shed, 

And screen'd me from the sun. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 269 

I sought a couch, and soon T found 

A sward beside the rill, 
And lo ! the hawthorn rear'd around 
Its boughs in bloom, and on the ground 

The primrose blossom'd still. 

Wondering I saw ; for long ago 

Had disappear'd from view 
Their brethren of the vale below. 
I sate : and leaning with my brow, 

As wont, my moral drew. 

Thus from the world's enervate throng 

When wither 'd, falln, decay 'd, 
The virtues have been vanish'd long, 
And good men wept, and poet's song 

Their vain recall essay 'd. 

The pilgrim whom his road may bear 

To glen, or lonely wild, 
Has found them still in blossom there, 
In odour redolent and fair, 

In colours undenTd. 

Oh ! may at last my weary feet 

Such resting-place attain, 
Of antique manners the retreat, 
Where honest bosoms still may greet 

In words as frank and plain. 

Where native dignity serene 

The household may controul, 
And free from heat and party- spleen, 
Unfeign'd her tongue, unmask'd her mien, 

Religion bind the whole. 



2/0 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 
II. 

THE SERVANT. 

I dream'd, and saw in glory clad, and crown'd 

As with the sun, than brightest noon more bright, 
The Son of Man ; an army girt him round, 
Bath'd in the dew of that most dazzling light, 
That utter'd ever and anon 
A joyous song, as he march'd on. 
And, pointing to the radiant train he drew, 
He ask'd, " wilt thou become my servant too V 

O'erpower'd and giddy with the excessive blaze, 

Downward I hung in bashful awe my brow, 
And ponder'd with myself in wild amaze. 
O no ! I cried, I am not dreaming now ; 
And then I look'd, and look'd again, 
With growing rapture on the train, 
Then prone on earth the glorious chief ador'd, 
And cried, " yea, count me 'mid thy servants, Lord !' : 

I rose ; the scene was chang'd, 'twas dim eclipse ; 
A cross stood opposite, where writh'd with pain 
Hung one that spoke to me with quivering lips, 
And, speaking, pointed to a little train 
In rent and squalid garments drest, 
That sobb'd and cried, and beat the breast, 
'Mid jeering multitudes a wretched few. 
He ask'd, " wilt thou become my servant too V 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 2fl 

I gaz'd, and lo ! the self-same form it seem'd 
Which I had seen in dazzling glory flame. 
T. gaz'd again, and then 1 hop'd I dream'd j 
Again, then cried it cannot be the same. 

Then turn'd, lest one look more might show 
Too clear what I was loth to know. 
No man can serve two masters — thus I spoke, 
Asham'd at my own answer, and awoke. 

O double-minded servant of one Lord, 

Is not thy life e'en such a dream as this 1 
Thou art not his 'mid cross, and shame, and sword : 
But thou art his 'mid pomp, and wealth, and bliss. 
Dull dreamer, up ! arise, awake, 
Thy silken bands of slumber break, 
Thro' night the day, thro' death the life is given, 
So thro' the opprobrious cross the glorious thrones of 
heaven. 



272 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



CHAPTER XX. 

THE FRIEND OF THE FAMILY. 

This, said my friend, one day, as he opened a 
door at the head of the first flight of the broad 
oaken staircase of the manor-house, and dis- 
covered a spacious chamber, through whose 
mullioned window, partly blinded by the green 
leaves of a vine, the sun was shining most 
cheerfully, and throwing in fine relief the carv- 
ing of the wainscotted sides and elaborate 
mantle-piece ; this was known in our family by 
the title of f 'our friend's room." For here was 
lodged, whenever he came among us, he who 
was peculiarly reckoned the friend of the family 5 
however full the house might be when he 
arrived, this room was always reserved for him. 
So completely was he identified as its occupant, 
that in our childish minds this circumstance of 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 273 

possession formed a constant and leading point 
in our notion of him. He was of studious 
habits, and every morning in the colder months 
a fire was lighted at an early hour in that grate. 
Often on a cold winter's morn, when our own 
fire was scarcely sufficient to admit our shiver- 
ing cowering crowd all to a due share of its 
warmth, I have stolen to his room, and shared 
with him the comforts of his hearth. He by no 
means disliked these visits, but rather said that 
he always enjoyed his studies the more when he 
had some one of us in his company : it gave him 
spirits, and we were extremely cautious against 
causing him any voluntary interruption further 
than by our mere presence. At intervals he 
would lay down his book, chatter with me for 
a few minutes, tell me a tale, cross-examine me 
good-humouredly in my book-learning, ask about 
my brothers, sisters, or companions, then resume 
his studies, and leave me in eager expectation 
of the next interval. At the moment that our 
bell rang for prayer, the creak of his opening 
door was heard, and his lively countenance with 
its benevolent smile imparted additional cheer- 
fulness as he entered the room where we were 
assembled. We all found pleasure in his com- 
pany, from oldest to youngest, from gravest to 



274 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

most playful, for he could adapt himself to 
either class, in such a manner, however, that 
neither the one ever complained of his levity, 
nor the other of his austerity. 

Many, if not very many families, have some 
one friend thus distinguished above all the rest, 
who is reckoned peculiarly the friend of the 
family, and occupies often a nearer place in 
their confidence than their nearest relations 
out of doors. He is commonly the friend of the 
father's youth, his comrade at school and col- 
lege, and grows dearer to him as the recollec- 
tion of young and happy days becomes more 
pleasing with advancing years. He is a monu- 
ment, and sort of representative of what is past, 
and seems to embody and keep upon earth what 
had otherwise long ago gone for ever. To the 
whole family he is the eye and chief organ, as it 
were, by which they become acquainted with 
the external world. He supplies them with in- 
formation, is consulted on every difficulty, he is 
their help and comfort in sorrow and embarrass- 
ment 5 and to descend to his more trifling rela- 
tions, he is to the children the agreeable chan- 
nel of procuring them indulgencies from their 
parents : he is their grand source of appeal in 
all their disputes on matters beyond their own 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 275 

limited sphere of knowledge, the fountain of all 
their information regarding their future theatre 
of action, the world, and to his bosom the boys 
entrust with a solemnity which often overcomes 
his gravity, their whimsical predilections, and 
crude schemes for future life. 

Great, indeed, is the importance of such a 
friend in every w ay, both for good and for bad 5 
above all, in the moral and religious influence 
which he must necessarily exercise. He has 
been their father's intimate, and reflects his 
character to the children 5 if he have not grown 
wiser with advancing years, he may take away 
from their filial respect by impressing them 
with the notion that such was their father, what- 
ever he may be now 5 and may lower at once 
their moral and religious standard, by allowing 
or rather inducing them to think that their 
father is exacting from them more duty than 
himself has paid, and that his interest, and not 
his love, is the cause of the strictness which he 
shews in himself, and requires from them. For- 
tunately, however, such a character can never 
occupy this important station with a tolerably 
wise and good father 5 and where he is other- 
wise, his friend (supposing friendship so firm to 



2/6 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

exist in such a case) can do little to augment 
the overpowering evil of his own example. 

But to a holy home, how wholesome is his 
influence. My father and his friend were yearly 
growing into still more intimate union, by the 
rare circumstance of the opinions of two men, 
both given to frequent study and deep reflection, 
and living in stirring times of controversy and 
canvass, civil and religious, not only continuing 
to agree as they advanced, but ever converging 
to a still closer union. This circumstance, in 
any case, is sufficient to establish a firm bond of 
friendship, but in the case of religion it fur- 
nishes one which may defy the powers of this 
world to dissolve. Their minds are in unison 
to their deepest recesses, to the very roots of all 
action, thought, and feeling j they seem as if 
brought together by God as suitable companions 
to the same spot in a world which admits not 
of chance or change, and all their intercourse 
is regulated by a purity and loftiness of senti- 
ment (the genuine fruit of true religion) which 
is continually exciting their mutual admiration 
and love. 

Such was he to my father, and I can scarcely 
adequately describe the light in w T hich he was 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 277 

viewed by his children. They of course inhe- 
rited his respect and love, and looked with 
no common feelings of regard upon one whose 
name was always mentioned in their family 
prayer, as if he had been one of themselves. 
But he came to our hearts in a still more im- 
portant character 3 the ideas which children en- 
tertain of the attributes of God are necessarily 
derived from earthly representatives : and if a 
holy father furnish them with materials for 
forming a notion of the heavenly father, and, in 
proportion to his holiness and care, put them 
forward at once by his example in a more 
advanced starting-place, whence the mind comes 
more quickly and surely to the goal, and com- 
pletes its notion ; so, too, does a holy friend fur- 
nish, in a manner suited to their rude capacities, 
the attributes of our Lord and Master as a 
friend. His disinterested kindness as a friend, 
his steady affection, his ready ministration of 
help, his participation of our joy and our sorrow, 
his bosom, the chosen receptacle of our secrets • 
all this, in union with a holiness of character, 
which could not escape even our vague and 
childish appreciation of moral qualities, put us 
far (need I say?) on the way towards estimating 
that celestial attribute, and at once generated 



278 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

and nursed those feelings, which directed to- 
wards God, and refined by this destination, be- 
come the only lasting and real source of earthly 
consolation. 

Such was he to us, and came among us every 
successive year more and more dear, more and 
more sanctified in proportion, as from growing 
years we w T ere better enabled to appreciate the 
purity of the fountain whence, in the first in- 
stance, we had drawn our notions - y and even now 
when I can trace to him the germ of so many of 
my religious feelings and ideas, the rudiments 
of the unspeakable comfort which I have expe- 
rienced in my reliance on God as a friend, I am 
almost ready to weep at the extent of the debt 
of reverence and gratitude which I feel to be 
owing to his memory. 

His arrival among us always caused great joy 
and satisfaction 5 the expectation of it a almost 
resembled the eve of a religious festival, and it 
v/as ushered in by a particular prayer for his 
safe conduct. In every society a new comer is 
welcome, from his breaking the monotonous 
round of thought and converse into which it is 
prone to fall. He imparts novelty and life, and 
like an additional chemical ingredient, compels 
all parts of the mass into fresh combinations. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 279 

But in none is this interruption of the prevail- 
ing mental routine more desirable than where 
religion has its proper influence. Thoughts are 
apt to be renewed in the same train till they 
cease to have due power in exciting the feel- 
ings, and words may be interchanged and re- 
peated in the same circle, till they lose some- 
what of the force of their adequate meaning, 
whence ensues a comparative languor and for- 
mality. If at any time we were approaching 
this state, we were most effectually roused from 
it by the visit of our friend, who, like the angel 
at Bethesda, stirred our stagnant pool into salu- 
brious freshness. Indeed, I could sometimes 
indulge for a moment the idea that we were 
entertaining an angel, perhaps our guardian 
angel, for all his influence was benign and holy. 
We experienced on every communication with 
him something imparted to our minds, which 
we would fain not let go, and which we often 
discovered, after many a day, to have been the 
germ of some frame of mind in which we have 
found cause for pious delight and congratulation. 
Like an angel's, too, his visits, alas ! became in 
course of time few and far between 5 age, with 
increasing infirmities, compelled him to keep to 
shorter distances: yet, when he did come, he 



280 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

made most ample compensation, and our now 
fast ripening minds were able to appreciate the 
value of the intercourse, and zealous to draw 
from it all the advantages with which it was so 
teeming. 

Whenever he went from us, he left aching 
hearts behind. For several mornings (I re- 
member) after his departure, I would pass this 
door with a sigh, and even stay and look in, as 
almost hoping to see him, as usual, sitting at his 
fire. Never was "Amen!" more heartily pro- 
nounced than by all of us at the close of the 
prayer, in which my father prayed for his safe 
return, and thanking God for the blessings of 
the late visit, implored him to repeat the same 
in its due season. 

He was about the same age as my father, and 
survived him by a few months -, but even that 
short space of time was sufficient for him to 
exhibit proofs, by his kindness to us, of the 
zeal and permanency of his friendship. 

Having had before my eyes, up even from my 
infancy, this model of a friend, you may suppose 
that I have neglected no means to acquire one 
for myself. But I have been less fortunate than 
my father. I have never yet found one who has 
realized my wishes. Perhaps the notion which 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 381 

I had conceived of friendship, being associated 
with my happiest days, was refined in advancing 
years by time and absence into something too 
unearthly. Memory is ever too apt to drop the 
gross terrene substance, and present us but with 
the pure spirit ; thus I became, perhaps, too 
fastidious, and expected to find in my first com- 
munication what can be the effect but of long 
years of friendship. Friends, in the common 
sense of the word, I have had many, and many, 
alas ! have verified their proverbial fickleness. 
My consolation under the unkind desertion of 
such friends, I present you in these lines, written 
under its immediate smart. 

THE ONLY FRIEND. 

I have had friends, and thought them so, 
Had friends both intimate and many, 

But all have left me long* ago, 
Save the sole real friend of any : 

His faith in dazzling contrast shows 

All other friends but secret foes* 

Had friends whom one unguarded speech, 

Or one impatient look would scare, 
Who sought occasion for a breach, 

Inconstant as the passing air. 
But this, impatient word or look 
Could never scare — he ne'er forsook. 



282 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

And friends whom never humblest call, 
Nor meekest proffer brought again, 

Tho' years had flown, and changed us all, 
And nearer came the grave — 'twas vain. 

But this, be but a wish implied, 

That instant combats at my side. 

And friends, upon whose lips I hung, 
And sweeter than the honey deem'd 

The doctrine flowing from their tongue ; 
O fool, with bitterness it teem'd. 

But all is true from this that flows, 

His well of love no bitter knows. 

And friends, who lock'd me to their breast, 
Hid all from me their doubts and cares, 

And I in turn my thoughts supprest, 

My faults conceal'd, nor told them theirs. 

But this has e^ery thing reveal'd, 

And I have nought from this conceal'd. 

And friends, who when the feast was spread 
Were ever nigh, and warm, and glowing ; 

But never shar'd my sorrow's bread, 
And woe-cup full to overflowing. 

But this, neglected in my joy, 

In woe and pain is ever nigh. 

And friends, who firm and constant stood, 
Thro' woe and pain — and yet their aid 

Was but to weep — 'twas all they could — 
And furnish hopes their hearts forbade. 

But this, all woe, all pain can cure, 

The hopes this gives are firm and sure. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 2S3 

And friends, whom regions far away, 
For weary lagging years would sever, 

Or some inexorable day 

Tear from my clinging arms for ever ; 

But this, thro' either world survives, 

Still nigh, still sure, for ever lives. 

And who is this, thy best of friends, 

What laud contains a gem so rare 1 
His home of fadeless bliss extends 

O'er earth, o'er ocean, and o'er air: 
His rule around, above, below, — 
O Lord, this best of friends art thou. 



284 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



CHAPTER XXI. 



THE LIBRARY. 



I have already mentioned the Rector's library. 
I had frequently heard from old people accounts 
of its great extent. But as to persons of their 
class and attainments, even a moderate collec- 
tion of books presents a most imposing appear- 
ance, seems, indeed, a perfectly inexhaustible 
fund of study, such reports are so exaggerated 
as to afford little clue to the real fact ; much 
did I regret that it had been removed but a 
short time before my arrival. For, besides 
other reasons, I put much faith in the common 
observation that a man's collection of books 
gives us a key to his mind, and therefore 
looked for much insight into my predecessor's 
turn of thought from this inspection. I was, 
however, fortunate enough to see the " disjecti 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 285 

membra poetce" as it were, by beholding some 
fragments of it, whence I thought that I could 
form no inadequate notion of the whole. My 
friend had brought down with him for his 
summer companions the contents of a shelf or 
two 5 and they evidently belonged to a collec- 
tion which had been made with great know- 
ledge and discrimination. Even to this small 
portion, with my friend's kindness, I was much 
indebted 5 in its narrow compass it comprised 
volumes unattainable by my circumscribed 
means and remote situation, w r orks of a very 
different character from those supplied by the 
subscription-library, or the book-club. With 
grateful recollections of the source of much 
sterling information, I often call to mind the 
apartment in which they lay. The ladder was 
remaining there still, and, while it showed that 
the library in its nourishing days had pushed its 
shelves as near as they could approach the cei- 
ling, seemed to jeer the scanty remnant, over 
which it towered in preposterous loftiness 

You are wondering what use I can make of 
that tall ladder, exclaimed my friend, one day, 
on observing my eyes fixed upon it. Useless as 
it may seem now, I exult much upon its re- 
covery. I drew it from the bottom of a heap of 



286 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

lumber, soon after my arrival, and never did 
relick-hunter dig up a more precious treasure. 
It is the most pleasing memorial of former 
days. When I look upon its polished shafts and 
worn steps, when I reflect upon tbe many jour- 
neys which myself and others have made up 
and down them, both for profit and pleasure, 
for you must know that it served us in a two- 
fold capacity, both as a road to knowledge, and 
as an instrument for feats of playful skill and 
bodily strength, (what will not boys turn to 
this purpose,) a thousand pleasing little circum- 
stances, long buried in forgetful ness, revive in 
memory to amuse me. The vigour and pli- 
ability of muscle nurtured there is, alas ! gone, 
but the effect of the treasures of mind to which 
it conducted, I thank God, abides with me still. 
How little, then, did I calculate either on the loss 
of the one, or on the duration of the other. I now 
often beguile an idle quarter of an hour by look- 
ing at it, and allegorizing such little incidents 
as happen at the moment to strike my recollec- 
tion. The difficulty and jostling on passing 
ench other, on its narrow 7 precipitous road, the 
severe falls and overthrow of all our freight, to 
which our hurry, carelessness, or ambition sub- 
jected us, the race and struggle amongst us up 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 287 

its heights for some favorite book, — did not all 
these, methinks, shadow out much, very much, 
of what really occurs in the pursuit of know- 
ledge on the stage of life ? At another time, 
perhaps, I recall to mind the indescribable look 
of interest and curiosity which my father put 
on, when he saw one of us, putting all our 
young strength to the work, plant the ladder y 
how, with a glance stolen now and then, he 
would watch the part against which Ave placed 
it, observe the volume drawn forth, and I think 
I hear the hearty laugh with which he would 
hail our descent with a ponderous book, half 
the size of ourselves, and mark onr looks of 
childish gravity and importance : and then again 
the renewed goodnatured laugh (which never 
deterred us) with which he looked at the con- 
tents of the book, apparently so unsuited to our 
years. Thus (how well do I remember it, as if 
it were yesterday,) he saluted me on the first 
time of my bringing down Drayton's Polyolbion, 
a work to which, child as I was, I grew strongly 
attached, in a manner unaccountable to me now ; 
its legendary cast, no doubt, was one attraction, 
and other reasons were, perhaps, a geographical 
turn, and disposition for rambling, both of 
which have now been gratified to satiety, 



288 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

though not in my native land 5 great part of 
that still remains invested with the romantic 
interest which the poet threw around it, and 
will remain, for I feel unwilling to dissolve the 
charm by an actual visit. 

Unsuitable to our years as such books may 
at first sight appear, my father never took them 
out of our hands, nor remanded them to the 
shelf 5 he understood human nature better. He 
well knew that the peculiar and original bent of 
the child (if he have any character impressed at 
all) is often leading him to books from which 
the herd of grown-up people turn aside as un- 
interesting, or as being, at all events, out of the 
ordinary track of amusement 5 and to the mind 
of a reflecting parent, what can be more in- 
teresting than to watch such a choice ? what, 
indeed, more gratifying ? since it stamps to him 
the child's mind with a character at once. The 
father is henceforward enabled to see and clear 
the way before his child, and give full scope to 
that disposition which God has assigned for the 
foundation of his conduct through life, and thus, 
too, is saved all the misery, seldom terminated 
before death, of a constant struggle against na- 
tural inclination. Besides, when once disco- 
vered, an original bent gives the father's hand 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 289 

a power of guidance, of which common-place 
minds do not allow : just such as the strong de- 
termined motion of the vessel supplies to the 
helmsman, whose skill is fruitlessly applied to 
a slow and placid course. 

I now often pourtray to myself the high in- 
terest my father must have felt on seeing the dif- 
ferent diverging roads on which our inclinations 
took us., as soon as the elementary acquirements, 
necessarily common to all dispositions, had been 
completed : how must our future destinations in 
life have forced themselves upon him, and how 
full of a fearful sense of responsibility must he 
have laid hold of that handle of guidance which 
God had put into his hands. With all this he 
reposed great confidence in us (at least appeared 
to repose) regarding the moral nature of the 
book which we selected : he had, indeed by 
unwearied instruction, by continual impression 
of God's word upon our minds, imparted to 
them a quick and nice distinction between good 
and bad, and relied upon our choosing the one 
and rejecting the other. Like the parent bird, 
who having taught her brood their appropriate 
meats, dismisses them into the wide regions of 
earth and sky to choose for themselves. He 
did not, therefore, officiously and ostentatiously 

u 



290 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

guide our choice, for that he knew would be to 
thwart it, to damp the ardour of curiosity by 
prescribing a task, and, above all, to deprive 
himself of the advantage of discovering our 
natural bias. But when I say this, I should, 
indeed, wrong him, were I to assert that he 
exercised over our reading no control whatever ; 
much, and very much, was done gently, indi- 
rectly, and in a manner imperceptible to our- 
selves. He had made, as I have said, Scripture 
our well-head, and, this important point secured, 
the guiding of the stream was managed by 
means so easy as to be apparently inadequate 
to the important effects required. Have you ever 
traced one of our first rate rivers to its source } 
Then you cannot fail to have observed, how here 
a slight projection of rock has forced it to take 
an elbow, and saved it from the fate of a noisy 
brawling feeder to the nearest lake 5 and how 
there another obstacle, equally insignificant, has 
delivered it from being a nameless tributary to 
an obscure stream $ and thus a series of causes, 
each apparently trifling when compared with 
the consequences, has ultimately shaped its 
course into a channel, which taking the sweep 
of rich and wide plains, and winding under the 
walls of historic towns and capital cities, sup- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 291 

plies at last a haven for the commerce of the 
world, crowded and studded for many a mile 
with masts, sails, and flags, its joyous symbols. 
But was not such reading too desultory ? you 
will now ask. I think not. In following our 
natural inclinations we were following a certain 
train, and I am now speaking rather of amuse- 
ment than of study. But is not our knowledge 
of the world around us formed, more especially 
in our younger days,, in the most desultory 
manner possible ; taken up, I may say, from the 
very hands of chance, two successive hours 
scarcely ever presenting us with the same 
lesson ? The knowledge which abides by chil- 
dren, and assimilates itself, as it were, with the 
thoughts and affections, is ever thus desultory, 
pursued by inclination or accident, and never 
upon plan, which implies a stage of reason to 
which they have not attained. In this manner, 
which is precisely the same as that in which 
the baby becomes acquainted with this strange 
world, we also were making our acquaintance 
with the social world beyond us. We were 
learning like the young soldier, by exercise 
and mockfights, and not by actual engagement. 
In the volumes which we took up, the history 
of our species presented itself, the character of 



292 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 

man was unfolding, the general movements of 
life were displaying, bodies of men, combina- 
tion of purposes, results of long premeditated 
design, were exhibiting themselves 5 thus w T e 
were daily becoming better prepared to take 
our several posts in real conflict. 

It is now no unfrequent amusement of mine 
to turn over the volumes which were the fa- 
vourites of my boyhood, and though it is but 
here and there that I meet with a passage which 
I can distinctly remember to have interested 
me, yet the comparison of past with present 
feelings is full of interest. How very much 
do I find, of what then must have been to me 
quite speculative and imaginary, to have been 
now completely realized 5 how much that must 
then have been unintelligible, to be now, alas ! 
but too intelligible 5 how many lines and ex- 
pressions which must then have fired my fancy, 
do I now pass over with cold indifference 5 and 
how many beauties now strike me, to which at 
that age I must have been insensible. Such 
passages, therefore, at this day come before me 
invested with somewhat of the dignity of pro- 
phecy 5 their obscurities have been cleared up, 
their high-wrought language reduced to fact, 
their predictions have been accomplished. My 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 293 

collection here you see is but small : selected, 
however, as it has been, I find it quite sufficient. 
Owing to the continual change of feeling pro- 
duced by this life of constant chance and change, 
I never find the same set of authors tire -, and 
this more especially here, where, from a varied 
country, and the incessant revival of associa- 
tions, my mind is never stagnant and passive. 
As a well diversified landscape ever presents 
some novelty through the longest life, owing to 
the infinite number of different combinations of 
light and shade of which it is capable, so is it 
with my favourite authors — their perusal sup- 
plies me with unlimited variety from the ever- 
shifting state of my feelings and memory, the 
latter of which has cloud and sunshine in abun- 
dant store to produce. At other times I take 
up a book, which I remember to have been 
a favourite of a brother or sister, and make my 
way through it as I do among the neighbouring 
walks which are associated with their memory 3 
often I am struck upon comparing particular 
passages with circumstances developed in their 
after life, and flatter myself with having dis- 
covered some germ of their principles, together 
with the passages to which they were most 



294 THE RECTOR Y OF VALEHEAD. 

attached. Thus I seem to have improved my 
intimacy with those blessed spirits. 

And now, my dear friend, what is the result, 
you will ask, of all my knowledge, acquired 
through a long life, of men, and of books ? Is 
it nothing more than the vulgar selfish enjoy- 
ment of possession, or is it the more generous 
pleasure arising from the consciousness of being 
able to impart amusement and instruction to 
others ? It is neither one nor the other, though 
I mean not to say that I do not experience the 
latter. In brief, I answer, that it is the clear 
understanding of God's word -, this is my re- 
compense, and a most liberal one it is. That 
volume has been daily putting off somewhat of 
the theoretical cast which want of acquaintance 
with the heart, and ignorance of the world to 
which it is addressed, throws more or less 
around it. Having seen deeper and deeper into 
the disease which it presupposes, I have become 
more and more able to value the remedy which 
it applies. As long as our view is confined to 
the body of a flame, we can neither estimate its 
intensity, nor appreciate its use: for this object 
we must take in the dark back ground, mark 
it gradually growing into light, see the many 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 295 

projections which catch the rays, and the many 
deep recesses into which they penetrate. Such 
a back ground to the light of the gospel is 
human knowledge, including the utter darkness 
of the Gentile, and the more enlightened spe- 
culations of the Christian philosopher 5 and to 
this view, thus commanding, my contempla- 
tions, methinks, daily more and more approxi- 
mate. O blessed privilege of advanced years ! 
O more than full compensation for all that they 
take away ! Like the soldier, on the eve of 
striking his tent, and marching far away, I feel 
that I have collected all my mind's furniture 
together, that all my spoil is in readiness to 
accompany me. O delightful result ! to gather 
up the sum of our knowledge, and be enabled 
to give it bearing towards that point whither 
we ourselves are tending, to find that we have 
conferred upon our acquisitions a principle of 
immortality, by having made them minister to 
our understanding of the everlasting word, that 
thus not a day, not an hour, not a minute, has 
been lost in the pursuit, and that thus we shall 
carry our treasure with us out of the world -, 
while, to the last moment of existence, fresh 
wants of man are perceived with fresh mercies 
of God to meet them, goodness and wisdom 



296 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

are assuming more palpable substance, the tan- 
gled maze of Providence is unravelling, the 
counsels of the everlasting are unfolding, his 
promises are fast accomplishing, his prophecy 
is brightening. 



MEDITATION IN A LIBRARY. 

What is all knowledge but the dross 

Which spirits pure have left behind 1 
What but the slough, terrene, and gross, 
Cast by regenerated mind? 
Thus as I look, 
Cries every book, 
And at each glance methinks I roam 
Amid a mental catacomb. 

Lo ! letter'd coffins close me round, 

Where, by quick mind abandon'd long, 
Thoughts in their bandages are bound, 
Tier pil'd on tier, a sepulchred throng. 
Of every time, 
Of every clime, 
The wit of nations round me lies, 
Slumbering before my gazing eyes. 

Stamp'd in obtrusive gold their name, 
Sad mockery ! lost empires preach : 

Chiefs, statesmen, kings, condemned to fame 
Apostate saints, fall'n churches teach. 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD, 297 

In wildering heap 

Incessant leap 
Fear, wonder, from each titled roll, 
And fasten on my fearful soul. 

Stands not another Babel here, 

Where spirits in their pride have wrought 
Their heaven- affronting towers to rear 
Amid the boundless plains of thought 1 
For ages dumb 
Strange speeches come, 
And in bewildering din unite, 
With those which blest this morning's light. 

See, World ! the builders of thy pride, 

The masons of thy folly here ; 
And Heaven is present to deride ! 
Their speech is lost to living ear. 
For wondering crowd, 
For plaudit loud, 
The study of a silent few 
Is all their meed, is all their due. 

Here stands thy sage my eyes before 
Who sought on thy polluted race, 
The lustral waves of Heaven to pour., 
To mould anew to shapes of grace 
The mind deform : 
Poor eloquent worm ! 
He wrote, and liv'd, and died — and man 
Proceeded as he first began. 



298 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

Here he thy froward sons that lash'd, 

Thy satirist, with gibing grin, 
Who whipp'd, unaw'd and unabash'd, 
In others his own darling sin. 
He too is gone, 
And man walks on, 
Surviving with undying wrong 
His scourger's fury and his song. 

And here thy bard, whose thrilling lay 

Stirr'd to high deeds thy wayward son, 
Pointed to glory's starry way, 

And woo'd and fondly deem'd he won, 
His song was vain, 
It swells the train 
That rolls along from ages past, 
Each song as fruitless as the last. 

And here thy grave historians stand, 
And down to each succeeding age 
The roll of by-gone days expand ; 

Vain is their warning, vain their page. 
They but unfold 
A tale thrice told, 
Thrice to be told by speech unborn, 
Thrice to be heard with heedless scorn. 

E'en thus from shelf to shelf I roam, 
Still ending as I first began, 

Till to that titled roll I come, 

"The covenant renew'd with man." 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 299 

Around it stand 

A saintly band, 
Its honest preachers, who unfurl'd 
Its ensign 'mid a faithless world. 

Yea, Lord ! and girt with such a train, 

So pure, so goodly, and so bright, 
Thou shalt in glory come again, 
Clad in intolerable light. 
And at thy seat, 
I must repeat, 
What from these treasur'd cells I drew, 
What gain'd from all that crowds my view. 

Ah ! idled moments, mis-spent hours, 

Days, months, that unimprov'd have flown ! 
Now, now I feel my wasted powers, 

And know how much I might have known. 
The abandon'd prize 
Now mocks my eyes, 
In vain I sorrow o'er the past, 
My die of ignorance is cast. 

Lord ! make me humble thus to learn 

My scanty wealth, and seek for more : 
Watchful thy seasons to discern, 
Faithful to guard the entrusted lore : 
Content to pause 
Where wisdom draws 
Her limit : quick to truth's high call, 
And thankful, blessed Lord ! for all. 



300 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

CONCLUSION. 

On a beautiful morning late in October, I walked 
to my church upon occasion of some weekly 
duty. I was earlier there than necessary, and in- 
vited by the genial sunshine, proceeded towards 
the stone seat which I have already mentioned 
as set up by the late Rector. There I found my 
friend sitting, and enjoying the warmth of the 
situation. I am attending, he said, to my father's 
monitor, and never have I found it so impressive 
before 5 for besides the joint admonition of the 
dial and waterfall, the one casting its ever-va- 
rying shadow, the other glancing in ceaseless 
succession under the beams of this bright sun, 
here is the tall ash which he planted, shedding 
at my feet its sear and rustling leaf at every 
breath of wind, and the robin perched upon one 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 301 

of the nearly leafless and rimy sprays, is trilling 
forth a long farewell to sunny seasons. These 
are importunate monitors, and I seem in them 
almost to hear my father's voice e At all events, 
I must now soon expect my summons, and have 
accordingly, like a steward going to his account, 
been summing up in my mind what I have re- 
ceived, and how spent. On the side of receipt, 
I have been reckoning his several blessings of 
having, first of all, planted me in the church of 
his blessed Son, next assigned my fair lot in a 
pure and holy portion of that church, and again 
in the purest part of that portion, in a godly 
home -, and now I am endeavouring to find what 
I have to set against the opening of the account. 
O, my friend, I can find nothing, positively 
nothing. He then leaned his brow on his hands, 
and continued for a few moments in silence. 
Shortly after, he looked up, and resumed. I 
have latterly taken a more than usual pleasure in 
visiting this churchyard : it becomes daily more 
congenial with my feelings. It was also, I have 
understood, a favorite walk of my father's, when 
the infirmity of his declining years compelled 
him to a narrow circuit. Perhaps, my walk 
may shortly be equally circumscribed. Could I 
find a spot more interesting, more copious in 



302 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

the suggestions proper to old age ? I delight 
to repeat here some lines which I have found of 
his. 

Upon the mounded surface as I tread, 
That waves in billows o'er the cavern'd dead, 
I seem to walk a sea, which every hour 
Threatens to yawn asunder and devour. 
And he, the sinking Peter who upbore, 
Upbears me now — I tremble and adore. 

After this he rose up, took my arm, and en- 
tered with me into the church. He gazed in- 
tently and silently on the family tablet, then 
rousing himself, and seeming, by one effort, to 
shake off an unreasonable despondency, he cheer- 
fully took my hand, and quitted me with the 
offer of another ramble in the course of the 
week. 

Undoubtedly he was haunted by some fore- 
boding of his approaching end. He felt, per- 
haps, as aged people towards their end often do, 
something unusual about hinx, which was suffi- 
cient to awaken him to such reflections, and to 
look in the face the worst which may happen, 
but yet not important enough to communicate 
to others, whom it may needlessly alarm, and 
bring around him in troublesome officiousness. 
Two days passed, and I began to expect a sum- 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 303 

mons to our intended walk, when I was shocked 
towards evening by a hurried message, announ- 
cing his death. He had been (it seems) that 
morning, as if the same unaccountable forebo- 
ding still lay upon his mind, to visit his brother's 
tree. He returned later, and more fatigued than 
usual, though he did not extend his walk beyond 
the spot, but lay under its shade for full an hour, 
as I learned from the farmer who was ploughing 
at the time in the field below. Arrived in his 
usual sitting room, he threw himself back upon 
his sofa, and seemed to fall almost instantly into 
a sound slumber. From that slumber he never 
awoke ! I conceive that the length and number 
of his rambles was too great for his years ; and 
the continual excitation of feeling produced by 
reviewing the scenes of his youth, was too much 
for the mind of an old man, which requires 
calmness, if not indifference, in order to maintain 
its union with the exhausted and torpid body. 

The long monumental tablet in the chancel 
is now filled up • their roll of death is complete 3 
and, I trust, that their book of life has not a 
single name omitted. My eye now no longer 
adheres to the first name, but after agaze passes 
on at once to the last, and there rests in melan- 
choly contemplation. I seldom withdraw it 



304 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

before with tears in my eyes ; I thank God for 
the blessing so unexpectedly bestowed on me in 
the possession, short-lived though it was, of such 
a friend. Alas ! it is now almost the only trace 
left of him upon earth 5 for the walk from the 
Manor-house gate to the chancel-door, which he 
had restored and neatly gravelled, is now again 
nearly obliterated by rank tufts of grass, the 
windows which he had opened are again blocked 
up, and what is worse than all, the woodman's 
axe is at this moment sounding in his favourite 
walnut-grove. A distant relation, who never 
saw him, has succeeded to his earthly inheri- 
tance; and his brother's oak, I fear, is protected 
from a similar fate more by its youth than any 
knowledge of what it commemorates. So passes 
away all that we love, reverence, and would fain 
twine ourselves around in this world ! 

A handsome escutcheon, suspended over the 
portico, mocks the dilapidated Manor-house ; 
but nothing beyond the mere filling up of the 
tablet, so often mentioned, adorns his memory 
in the church. I think that the last member of 
an ancient family, whose influence had been all 
along so beneficial to the parish, ought to have 
had some further mark on his tomb, if it was 
only like the line we draw across a list to shew 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 305 

where a class terminates. Two lines had been 
sufficient. For want of such an epitaph to pro- 
duce, I present my reader w T ith one of my own 
composition, (observe, I am no poet,) which I 
have written underneath his profile, a remark- 
able likeness, which he gave me not many days 
before his death. This I have glazed and framed 
in black, and hung over my chimney-piece, 

EPITAPH. 

Last of a gallant troop that fought and died, 
Last passenger that press'd the parting tide, 
Last guest that quitted life's protracted feast, 
Last captive from the dungeon's gloom releas'd, 
Last deer of all the herd to slaughter due, 
Last spark which the consuming taper threw, 
Last swallow in autumnal noon-day seen, 
Last flower that painted the decaying green, 
Last drop that glitter'd in the exhausted well, 
Last sand that in the waning hour-glass fell, 
Last fruit that linger'd on life's drooping tree, 
Last star that sank beneath the darkling sea, 
Last lonely remnant of a numerous home, 
He sleeps in peace, and waits the morn to come. 

The recalling to mind my past conversation 
with him, and arranging and recording in some 
connected order the instruction which I have 
received, has been to me ever since both a study 
and amusement, the employment of some hours 



306 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

stolen from sleep, and of some melancholy lei- 
sure. In order to refresh fading impressions, I 
often revisit the spots which were scenes of 
interesting communication, and this has led me 
to describe them, perhaps more at length, than 
they may seem to deserve. I have, indeed, no 
reason to expect that I shall have been able to 
communicate more than but a slight share of 
the interest which I have taken, or to infuse into 
my reader more than a slight portion of -the 
beneficial influence which I have been enjoying, 
who feel as if I had in a journey through a coun- 
try of beautiful sights and sweet smells, shaken 
off the sooty films of a close contaminated city. 
If my book savour of melancholy, I confess 
that it does so from intention. I speak not to 
the gay 5 one of my leading objects throughout 
has been to uphold to view the rich and glorious 
fund of consolation which our blessed religion has 
in store for those manifold afflictions to which 
a family is more subject in proportion to the 
strength and mutual love and affection of its 
members. To such I could wish to be an useful 
monitor. I do not hope to aspire to be a guide. 
I have myself had some experience 5 and, though 
few of those who have journeyed through the 
Vale of Tears have surveyed it so calmly as to 



THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 307 

be enabled to furnish a road-book, yet, who is 
there, of common sensibility, upon whom its 
features have not left a deep and indelible im- 
pression ? 

I think it just possible, as ever so little things 
often call to recollection what are truly great, 
as a sparrow-hawk will prompt the thought of 
an eagle, that this book may remind thee, O 
Reader, in part of its plan, of that holy work, 
" The Temple," of the divine Herbert. I con- 
fess that I had him at first in view, and once, 
while yet my plan more nearly approached his, 
had determined to give it the title of " The 
Second Temple 3" and this, from a fond admi- 
ration of his work, not from any notion of the 
worthiness of my own 5 much on the same prin- 
ciple as we impose the names of celebrated 
worthies on the infant members of our family, 
which, while they proclaim our fervent appro- 
bation of their glorious deeds, serve to express, 
what otherwise we shrink from expressing even 
to ourselves, a lurking and undefined hope that 
the possessor of the name may be possessor of 
the virtues also. Perhaps, indeed, the title, 
thoroughly considered, may seem more expres- 
sive of humility than of presumption. For how 
glorious was the first temple in comparison with 



308 THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

the second. The first was decked with the en- 
signs and relics of the brightest period of the 
nation's history j it had the glory, the cherubim, 
the budding-rod, and the manna-pot : the second 
was destitute of all. The first rose under the 
hands of a powerful and magnificent monarch : 
the second was put together by miserable exiles, 
returning fresh from the dungeons of captivity. 
The first was reared amid shouts of joy and 
exultation : the second rose amid tears and 
weeping. Even so does this my volume want 
all the divine glory of that of Herbert. It pos- 
sesses nor mark nor relic of better days. It is 
the work of one, not glorious, like him, in all 
the praise of the gospel, but of one bearing the 
bruises of the manacles and fetters of sin 3 and 
its erection, far from drawing from thee, O 
Reader, a cry of admiration, will rather call forth 
tears at so unequal an attempt to revive the 
glories of past and better times. 

Farewell ! I have done my best. Great, in- 
deed, will be my reward, if this my little book 
shall have moved thee to raise, still more have 
assisted thee in raising, the most glorious edi- 
fice the hand of a Christian can raise to the 
honour and glory of his Master, the edifice of a 
HOLY HOME. 



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